Hanging Rock vineyards

Hanging Rock

Hike to the summit for great views over the ancient volcanic landscape. Northeast is Mount William, famed by indigenous people throughout all of eastern Australia for the quality of its flint stones which were traded up and down country. Not a walker? A simple picnic at the rock’s base among the gum trees and watchful kookaburras accompanied by one of the local wines may prove a less strenuous option. Tables are scattered through the parklands next to the famous Hanging Rock racecourse.

Also top-notch is Curly Flat (www.curlyflat.com), whose Chardonnay and Pinot Noir wines continually rank amongst the finest in the country.

Cobaw Ridge (www.cobawridge.com.au) is really off the beaten track. Here Shiraz and Lagrein grapes are kings of the castle. Cobaw Ridge specialises in long lived wines, full of character and finesse.

Zig Zag Road Winery (www.zigzagwines.com.au), for its prize-winning Riesling and Cabernet Sauvignon completes my current shortlist.

Thirty-four wineries are listed as members of the Macedon Ranges Vigneron’s Association. Their website (www.macedonrangeswine.com.au) is a useful tool when discovering this district as many wineries are open to the public by appointment only. A number of boutique guesthouses are listed in addition to other dining options I've not mentioned below.         

West of Mount Macedon is a scattering of small villages and two large towns: Kyneton and Daylesford. Their relative close proximity to Melbourne attracts tree-changers, folks bent on escaping the trials of the big city for a more relaxed back-to-nature country lifestyle. That many end up working harder than they ever did in the city should surprise no one toiling in the hospitality industry. Similarly, running a successful farm or small business in country areas isn’t quite the doddle some naive people may believe.

Drawing in permanent residents and visitors alike is the region’s sophisticated food scene.

See www.northeastvalleys.com.au for more food and wine focused touring information, suggested itineraries and annual local festivals and events.

See www.beechworthonline.com.au www.beechworth.com.au and www.beechworth.com for suggested accommodation, transport information, general facts and history, cycling paths (the Rail Trail from Wangaratta to Bright has a spur line to Beechworth) and other information pertinent to interstate and international travellers.

Naked Drinks:

Pennyweight is my favourite cellar door. One of only two open daily in and around Beechworth. It’s the best by far and rightly nationally famous for its bio-dynamic table and fortified wines.

13 Pennyweight Lane

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 1747

www.pennyweight.com.au

Indigo Vineyard is owned by Brokenwood of New South Wales. It’s quite a substantial vineyard for this area (46 ha.) and produces high quality wines separate from the larger Brokenwood group. Top picks are the Chardonnay, the Bordeaux red blend (Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Petit Verdot) and a very good Shiraz, all from the vineyard outside the lovely cellar door. Their Muscat from Rutherglen grapes is very fine as well. Indigo’s cellar door experience is rather structured; a seated tasting experience with a small snack to cleanse the palate between wines. If time is short or the formality of the tasting is too much, ask to sample the wines at the bar instead. Cellar door manager Bridget Hooper is more than pleased to ensure all customers’ needs are met.

1221 Beechworth – Wangaratta Road

Everton Upper

Tel: +61 (0)3 5727 0233

www.indigovineyard.com.au

Amulet Wines is the last of the three that boasts a cellar door open to the general public without appointment. I’ve tried a few Amulet wines over the years. They’re representative of the region’s overall superior standards.

1036 Beechworth – Wangaratta Road

Beechworth/Upper Everton

Tel: +61 (0)3 5727 0420

www.amuletwines.com.au

See www.beechworthvineyards.com.au for up to date opening times for cellar doors and information regarding visits by appointment, maps and further links.

Naked Eats:

Bridge Road Brewery & Pizzeria

Ford St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 2709

www.bridgeroadbrewers.com.au

Cellar Door Wine Store

62 Ford St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 2882

www.cellardoorwinestore.com.au

The Plough Inn

2322 Beechworth – Wangaratta Road

Tarrawingee

Tel: +61 (0)3 5725 1609

www.theploughinn.com.au

Provenance under chef/proprietor Michael Ryan’s guidance continues to impress me like no other restaurant in Beechworth (and most of country Australia for that matter).

Provenance

86 Ford St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 1786

www.theprovenance.com.au

The Ox & Hound Bistro Restaurant

52 Ford St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 2123

www.oxandhound.com.au

Naked Sleeps:

This is the short list and I’ve stayed in all of them.

Barnsley House Historic B & B

5 John St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 1037

www.barnsleyhouse.com.au

Under new owners, Steve and Irene, Barnsley House continues to raise the stakes in superlative accommodation. Like Finches and Freeman on Ford, Barnsley House is a big notch above its competitors.

The Provenance Restaurant also offers excellent accommodation.

See: www.theprovenance.com.au

The Hotel Nicholas has two large rooms for overnight accommodation. Breakfast is a ‘do-it-yourself’ affair comprised of very ordinary elements (two pieces of bread, packaged jam, butter, packaged juice, tea and coffee bags) but the rooms are surprisingly grand and pleasingly priced. Parking is in the street outside the hotel but there wasn’t a problem finding space even on a busy holiday weekend.

Best of all, the hotel operates a terrific restaurant on its upstairs balcony. Run by the Stanley Pub's former chef, she’s a great cook who understands the integrity of using excellent local produce.

The Nicholas is the town’s best place in which to see live music. The downstairs pub dining room converts to an intimate performance space (seating for approximately 80 persons) from 9pm on most weekends and attracts a strong local and interstate following. It’s a wonderful place to catch local talent. Occasionally internationally famous musicians play here; it’s that good!

1A Camp St.

Tel: +61 (0)3 5728 2655

www.hotelnicholas.com.au

The Opera Bar on the concourse level is packed. Other waterside cafes do a roaring trade. Buskers cash in on crowds ready to contribute to amateur shows, acrobats prancing one impromptu stage, didgeridoo players puffing on another. The new wing of the Museum of Contemporary Art is full of admirers or bored hangers-on. Packed ferries wash in and out from their prime-positioned wharves, full of commuters and tourists. Seagulls look fat on chips and meat pie crusts.

Random pedestrians take time to read the Writer’s Walk bronze plaques commemorating national and international writers embedded into Circular Quay’s pavements. Comparatively speaking, not many onlookers read the plaques but a few curious travellers with obvious literary interests enjoy the potted histories nonetheless. These metal mementos are my favourite Quay objects; the similarly embedded bronze dotted lines marking the extent of Circular Quay’s historic shoreline sharing an equal fascination.

Sydney’s dress circle is looking great these days. (It will look better when the disastrous elevated section of the Cahill Expressway is removed and the train line is finally shoved underground but that’s a multi-billion dollar project waiting on a forward thinking government willing to commit to a budgetary decision beyond the next election date.)

Remember Sydney 2000? The Olympics centre of planet universe? Sydney was the epicentre of sport and media attention combined. Juan Antonio Samaranch (former President of the International Olympic Committee, fondly nicknamed by smart-alecky Sydneysiders as ‘One Tomato Sandwich’) famously declared that ‘Syd-erney’ hosted the best Olympics ever. The city was completely and flagrantly abuzz with entertainment and sports-related activity, most of it free. Lanyard wearing volunteers worked the city streets like seasoned tour guides, greeting complete strangers with entreaties of charitable assistance, happy to help whomever whenever. There was an overriding sense that Sydney’s attractions-loaded gravitational pull had finally become globally irresistible.

At the coalface, Sydneysiders exclaimed joy at the surfeit of free parking spaces (me amongst them) in the normally car crowded CBD. Public transport worked better than ever, the cleaner trains actually ran on time. Better still, prime harbour side houses could be rented to visitors at unbelievable prices, even enough to fund a luxury trip to Paris for a month while their owners were keen to avoid the Olympian crowds. Already cashed-up Sydneysiders reaped lucrative rewards.

Those were heady times indeed.

Post Olympics, Sydney tourism slumped. Too many 5-star hotels built for 2000’s rush competed for too few visitors. Tourism Sydney and NSW Tourism PR campaigns were roundly criticised for relying on past glories rather than encouraging newly refreshed repeat business. A lack of imagination on the part of tourism bureaucrats was all too apparent.

Only recently has Sydney begun to emerge from its post-Olympics tourism doldrums.

Fast forward to 2015, an O. Winfrey chat show circus came and went. An E. De Generes chat show circus followed. Different audiences (mostly USA based) expressed renewed interest in visiting old ‘Syder-ney’. More cruise ships than ever are stopping in for a night or two. Most good hotels are registering over 80% capacity while more visitors from China, India and the Middle East have taken up the slack left by Europeans and Americans frightened off by high prices, restricted by their own moribund economies.

Sydney is one of the world’s favourite cities. That fact hasn’t changed. What has changed is an increase in international visitors. Overall numbers are up again.

Apart from taking in the usual suspects: Bridge, Opera House, Circular Quay being the dress circle stars of the show, why not have a look at a few other sides of Sydney unknown to most visitors?

For instance, a short walk south from the Opera House along Macquarie St to Hyde Park takes in some major historical sights: the New South Wales Parliament building, the Australian Mint, the Hyde Park Barracks and the northern entrance to Hyde Park itself with its marvellous Archibald Fountain serving as the bubbly end point to the fig-tree lined walk south to the ANZAC memorial. Statues of Queen Victoria (glowering as usual) and her Prince Consort Albert (attractive as usual) stand at either end of the small Queen’s Square facing the front of renowned convict architect Francis Greenway’s St. James’ Church.

It’s a quintessential downtown Sydney historical promenade. What most visitors overlook as they stroll along Macquarie St is the statue of Matthew Flinders in front of the State Library of NSW (The Mitchell Library). The first two volumes of Flinders’ journal concerning his circumnavigation of Australia in 1802 are housed within. A small statue of Flinders’ faithful and beloved cat, Trim, rests on the outside sill of a stained glass window of the library behind the much larger statue of the great navigator himself.

The plaque under Trim’s statue reads: TO THE MEMORY OF TRIM:

Written by Matthew Flinders in memory of his cat Memorial donated by the North Shore Historical Society

I always pause (paws?) to reflect at this particular point in the brief walk along Sydney’s memory lane. Trim was well loved among Flinders’ crew for his good nature and tenacity.

Here’s a short list of three off-the-beaten-track excursions, all easily managed in a day and readily accessible on public transport:

1)      1) Take a bus across the Harbour Bridge along the lower North Shore to The Spit and hire a kayak. Paddle up Middle Harbour past the Roseville Bridge into Garigal National Park to witness a slice of Australia’s largest city from sea level. If you’re lucky, at the northernmost reaches of Middle Harbour the water will run clear as gin and your only company will be kookaburras flitting in and out of surrounding gum forest while mullets leap from the water around the kayak. The city’s hubbub is completely forgotten. As you paddle over a white sandy bottom, remember what Sydney once was before urbanisation obliterated the landscape and Kuringai people owned the land. Be sure to return the hired kayak before the rental shop closes at 6pm. Also pay attention to the tides. A hard paddle back to The Spit from Garigal National Park takes at least three hours if the tide is running against you.

2)      2) Take the train to Cabramatta, former heroin distribution capital of NSW and now a reformed example of positive multiculturalism in action. The Southeast Asian community here dominates the atmosphere and the lively vibe is infectious. In summer, street vendors sell freshly pressed sugar cane juice served fresh in plastic cups with a squeeze of lime. AUD$2 is the going price. At any time of year, duck or pork sold from various roasting specialists perfume Cabramatta’s laneways while vegetarian fresh rice paper spring rolls pop up in dozens of stalls at about AUD$3 per roll. Vietnamese Pho soup is served in huge bowls for AUD$10, always a bargain. If a better example of urban renewal exists in Australia, please alert the media.

1)     3)  Take the ferry to Kirribilli, five minutes across the Harbour from Circular Quay. Walk to Kirribilli House and Admiralty House along the foreshore besides some fairly non-descript apartment blocks to two of the Harbour’s ultimate chic addresses, both grand residences right on Sydney’s Harbour. The former (Kirribilli House) is the Prime Minister’s residence in Sydney and the latter (Admiralty House) is the Queen of Australia’s residence when she visits Sydney. Entry without prior invitation to either house or their gardens (that’s you visitor!) is prohibited. Loitering at the wrought iron gate entrance to Kirribilli House is also discouraged but it’s a fun exercise tempting existential fate. Ask the security goons whether or not the PM is at home and be prepared to accept ‘No’ as the answer. Retrace your steps to the other (western) side of the Bridge to the fantastical Art Deco amusement park Luna Park, skirting its northern edge while making your way across Blues Point Road to Wendy Whiteley’s private garden at McMahon’s Point overlooking Lavender Bay near Clark Park. Wendy Whiteley (widow of famous deceased artist Brett Whiteley) created this delightfully simple garden essentially out of a public dumping ground. Her daughter Arkie (who died of cancer at a young age) and husband Brett’s ashes are buried in the park. Artists are naturally encouraged to linger, perhaps to draw, perhaps to paint or write. Follow the shoreline to Balls Head past the Waverton bowls club at the shore’s edge along Berrys Bay to the last remaining bit of original bushland on this part of Sydney's Inner Harbour. Follow the track around the headland to search for ancient indigenous rock carvings (a man inside a whale is one of the most interesting) and various middens. Stop to marvel at the view across the water to Darling Harbour. Walk back up Balls Head Road to Bay Road which leads to the Waverton railway station. Board the train back into the city from here, which is less than ten minutes away by train across the Harbour Bridge via North Sydney.

These three easy excursions provide a slice of Sydney life unknown to most visitors while the day trip to Cabramatta in Sydney’s western outskirts offers a glimpse into where the majority of Sydney’s population actually lives.

A house with a harbour view costs on average more than AUD$3,000,000 these days. Only a minority of residents can afford to live on the water. The two waterside day trips pack a lot of pizzazz, no wonder Sydneysiders dream of living in a house on the Harbour.

But beyond the Harbour’s glittering shores, life in the suburbs has become harder, traffic is worse than ever according to complaints uttered by commuters making the daily trek into and out of town on over-crowded, late-running trains, ferries and buses. Roads are jammed from early morning until well after sunset. The lack of public transport funding is contentious as always, a side of Sydney most international and domestic visitors almost never see.

A journalist friend with whom I once worked (at a local newspaper) told me she thought Sydney was a ‘wicked step-sister of a city’ a nice way of saying it was a bitch of a place in which to live if money is short. That fact hasn’t changed. Sydney is very expensive, even when compared to the average daily living expenses incurred in well known money-gobbling cities such as New York, London, Tokyo or Paris.

For travellers trying to get by on less than AUD$200 per day, staying in the worst flea-pit backpacker hostels, eating two simple take-away meals per day and walking everywhere, is possible but not very nice.

A recent acquaintance (originally from New Zealand) calls Sydney ‘Beyond Thunderdome’. Certainly that’s a description which conveys ‘Mad Max’ memories, applicable to Sydney’s public arena appeal.

But as former PM Paul Keating once quipped, ‘If you’re not living in Sydney, you’re just camping out.’

Personally speaking, I like camping out. Having been a resident of Sydney for more than twenty years, I say with hand on heart that it’s not the be-all-to-end-all Australian city but it’s a very nice place to visit.

Tom Neal Tacker visited Sydney as a guest of Swissotel Sydney.

Naked Facts:

Naked Sleeps:

One of Sydney’s better 5-star hotels is the Swissotel. A recent upgrade of its rooms (2014) and public facilities has provided even more good reasons to enjoy its restaurant and bar. An in-house spa is one of the city’s top pampering palaces.

The upper two floors offer access to the executive lounge, free breakfast and evening drinks plus snacks for a moderate surcharge. The rooms from these two levels boast great views either over the lower Harbour to the Heads or west all the way to the Blue Mountains and the upper Harbour. A large outdoor heated pool and well equipped gymnasium add more value.

Service is slick and efficient. It’s a very well run establishment, befitting its Swiss heritage, everything works like... well... clockwork. The location in Market Street near the corner of George Street is unbeatable. All the city’s major CBD attractions are within an easy walk.

See www.swissotel.com for more information.

Another hotel I like is the Fraser Suites apartment hotel. It’s a sleek modern tower kind of hidden away in a quiet block of Kent Street near Town Hall. I’ve stayed here a few times and appreciated the in-room kitchens, very large rooms (separate bedroom and lounge room with kitchenette) which provide plenty of space to claim as a temporary home. Though Fraser Suites doesn’t offer the same range of amenities as a truly full service hotel, it’s still a treat staying there as sometimes I like the independence that self-catering offers.

See www.sydneyfrasershospitality.com

Another old favourite is The Hughenden in Queen St near the corner of Oxford St in tony Woollahra. A home away from home for writers and artists looking for the bolthole that offers the seclusion and home comforts they miss. Recent upgrades to the rooms, bar and restaurant have lifted this once quirky but fun boutique hotel to still quirky but now very reliably upmarket with service to match. Unusual for inner Sydney hotels, it's also pet friendly with several rooms set aside for travelling pets and their minders. With the expanse of Centennial Park directly across the street, what could serve better to provide doggy bliss?

While the in-house restaurant used to be rather hit and miss, since 2014 it's moved up several notches on the good cooking scale. Now I eat dinner there without hesitation.

Breakfasts are cooked to order from an a la carte menu that ticks all the requisite boxes to keep travellers happy until the next meal.

The owners have acquired the old Centennial Park manager's house for private accommodation. A lovingly restored Federation era grand house comprising four spacious bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms, tastefully decorated entertaining areas, a formal dining room and superbly equipped kitchen is set within its own private garden. When the park gates shut at sunset, residents have the whole park to themselves. Security keys allow access 24/7 for paying guests.  The house is available as a complete package; rooms cannot be rented separately. As a private function space, it's unparalleled in this swish neighbourhood. The Hughenden will provide a private chef and well stocked larder as well.

See www.thehughenden.com.au for more information and reservations.

Naked Eats:

During another recent visit I dined very well at Dragoncello, owned and operated by Roy Mcveigh. With a very impressive chef's pedigree, he's cooking what I like to eat: honest, toothsome and healthy. Following the trends set by most leading-edge chefs these days, Mcveigh's menu emphasises locally grown produce much as possible, accompanied by a small but expanding kitchen garden and a cleverly assembled wine list. Dragoncello (tarragon in Italian) is at the quiet end of Cleveland St in Surry Hills near South Dowling St. See www.dragoncello.com.au for bookings.

Over three nights during another recent visit to ‘Beyond Thunderdome’ I dined at Tetsuya’s, Est and Sepia. Tetsuya’s is rightly famous. Since the early 90s ‘Tet’s, (as Tetsuya Wakuda is affectionately known to all persons who’ve crossed his gregariously engaging path) restaurant has evolved into a globally recognised temple of gastronomy. However, in my opinion Tetsuya Wakuda’s cooking these days isn’t nearly as cutting edge as it once was. That’s not a bad thing necessarily (maintaining an excellent standard for so many years is laudable and should be respectfully acknowledged) but during a degustation of more than ten courses, three of them were primarily comprised of very simple sashimi. I like superb quality produce as much as any glutton but those three courses out of ten exhibited a lack of imagination that impaired what should have been a feast of inspiration.

www.tetsuyas.com

The meal I ate at Est was better than Tetsuya’s. Chef/owner Peter Doyle is one of Sydney’s hero chefs, a long-standing favourite of dedicated diners keen on the pursuit of gastronomic prowess who’s been in the hospitality game for decades. He commands great respect from his peers while customers continue to fall in love with his superlative cooking. A dinner at Est is simply sublime. By the way, both Tetsuya’s and Est provide seamless dining experiences. Wine lists are literally works of encyclopaedic art and service is nothing short of flawless.

www.merivale.com/est

That being said, Sepia was the restaurant that knocked off my socks and blew my mind simultaneously.  

Hungry sophisticated travellers will be excited by the whole package at Sepia, one of the city’s most stimulating restaurants. Chef/owner Martin Benn is one of those rare geniuses, whose cooking talents display a level of sophistication that should be encouraged and embraced wholeheartedly by all dedicated gastronomes.

Devouring thirteen courses during a degustation of immense expertise, I admit to being in an element I’d like to call real food heaven for all holy gourmet cynical atheists like me.

While our table was being prepared, we sat in comfy leather lounges at the bar while sipping aperitifs. A Lillet Rose on ice for me, a chilled Floc de Gascogne for my partner in dinner crime.

Gracefully escorted into the slightly dark (sepia tones naturally), rather hushed but not unfriendly dining room, we checked out other diners. Fashion victims out for a big night on the town? Tick. Food bloggers snapping pics of plates while texting friends in HK? Tick. Small groups of family friends dining out at the big end of town? Tick. Date night for couples in the throes of infatuation? Tick.

Another Friday night out in Sydney for people interested in food that may provide conversation in and of itself? Most definitely yes.

To start: freshly shucked Pambula Sydney Rock oysters with lime and sake and a glass of Laurent-Perrier ‘Ultra Brut’ Brut Nature. I’m a total sucker for oysters and Champagne so I fell under the Sepia spell right from the get-go.

But wait there’s more...

Sashimi of Big Eye tuna, steamed Japanese omelette, white soy jelly, dashi onion cream, puffed buckwheat, green apple and nori.

A course that could confound anyone given the surfeit of ingredients but actually it was simplicity personified. The omelette almost melted along side the exquisitely fresh fish while all the other factors just melded into the mix like a magic pudding I never wanted to see end. A matching glass of Umenoyado ‘Gin’ Jinmao-Ginjo sake from Nara was a brilliantly chosen accompaniment.

Following was another sashimi course (Tetsuya’s comparisons are inevitable but Sepia’s two sashimi courses were infinitely better executed) of Bonito, flavours of roasted chicken, umeboshi, upland cress, green tea and nori. This course really rocked.

Crisped chicken skin and raw bonito with sour umeboshi and tannic green tea combined to create an umami driven taste sensation. Paired with an Austrian 2011 Furmint from Wenzel in the Burgenland, by then I had fallen into a state of pure culinary kismet.

A single barely cooked Scampi tail was accompanied with sudachi, parsley root, white miso, nori fried potato and white Linaria flowers. Great to look at, better to eat. Meltingly buttery, slightly sweet scampi was infused by the other salty, bitter flavours, the pretty little flowers adding both piquancy and texture all at once. A 2011 Clos Sainte Magdeleine Marsanne-Clairette-Ugni Blanc-Bourboulenc from Cassis in southern France was another gob-smacking wine match.

A Seared Mandagery Venison, boudin noir, chocolate crumb, macadamia nut yoghurt, blackcurrant and sichimi pepper reads like a bizarre dessert horror story but this incredible treatment of excellent quality venison and surprisingly complementary accompaniments was another perfect dish highlighting outstanding kitchen accomplishment, fully realising an ability to draw a clearly defined line between savoury and sweet without erring on one side or the other. The 2006 Dominio de Alauta Tempranillo from the Ribero del Duero was another example of truly inspired wine/food matching.

The Aged Garrotxa goat cheese, sake and goat milk dumplings, celeriac cream, nashi pear and celery matched with a cider from Suffolk (Aspall ‘Draught’) was yet another revelation. I didn’t think I could eat more protein after the venison but I was happy I did. Those dumplings were a tour-de-force.

The chef threw in a special course of his (becoming famous) Sugar ball with finger lime sorbet encased within. We were offered a special Japanese Yuzu liqueur to accompany that incredibly innovative course. Evidently, Benn worked for over three months to bring the perfectly spherical planet of sweet/sour sorbet freshness to fruition.

A Soft-poached meringue, truffle ice cream, truffle and rosemary honey hazelnut praline with malt second dessert followed. The 2011 Royal Tokaji Wine Company ‘Late Harvest’ Furmint-Harslevelu-Sarga Muscotaly matched that particular indulgence, fascinating to sample two wines (one dry the other sweet) made from the primarily Hungarian grape Furmint in the one meal.

 We had three additional courses to the set ten course menu. The first were the Pambula oysters, the dumplings were second and the third was compliments of the chef, the sugar ball encasing finger lime sorbet.

Do yourselves a flavour favour: dine at Sepia to witness greatness in action.

www.sepiarestaurant.com.au

Naked Tips:

For very general information see www.sydney.com for accommodation tips, public transport information and special events specifically pertaining to Sydney.

For comprehensive NSW state tourism information visit: www.visitnsw.com

Stockholm is no exception of course. Its harbour is one of Europe’s loveliest and the city embraces the surrounding water to maximum benefit. A graceful metropolis and small scale despite the fact it’s Scandinavia’s largest.

Minimising my use of public transport, I decided to walk nearly everywhere in an attempt to see more from the pedestrian's view, usually from one museum or cafe or restaurant to another in an effort to keep warm.

Stockholm’s most important museums are centrally located, all within easy walking distance to one another so running between sights was minimal. I rocked up at each museum glowing, slightly breathless but comfortably thawed.

I’d heard about the Vasa Museum but I wasn’t prepared for such a surprise. It’s magnificent. I happily spent a whole day there fascinated by this great ship that never really went anywhere and was lost to time as the centuries passed. (See www.vasamuseet.se)

The Vasa is the only early 17^th century ship ever to have been fully restored. With over 95% of the original timber still intact with recreated painted decorations looking as they did the day it launched, it’s like viewing living history. Designed by a Dutch master shipwright to act as Swedish king Gustav 2 Adolf’s flagship, the Vasa (the king’s family name) was intended to frighten opponents, in this instance the Poles for domination of the Baltic Sea.

But it was overmanned and over supplied with heavy cannons. The Vasa sank on its maiden voyage in 1628 about 1.2 kilometres (in the middle of Stockholm’s harbour) from where it was launched, an ignominious end to an embarrassingly short career.

After early efforts to salvage the sunken Vasa, within two centuries, the great ship was more or less lost in the depths of memory. Contemporary search methods helped to 'rediscover' the Vasa in the early 1950s. The ship was raised in 1961, its first time above the water line in 333 years.

Restoration took decades of painstaking work. The Vasa Museum opened in 1990. By 2004 a new climate control system was installed throughout the museum to stabilise temperature and humidity to protect the Vasa’s precious integrity.

Seeing the Vasa in its new home is humbling. How can it be otherwise? The beautiful ship can be witnessed as an example of supreme craftsmanship or simply as human folly.

They built something too big and overloaded it. Then it sank. Dozens of people drowned. A vast sum of money was wasted. The Swedish king took a huge hit to his prestige as did the Swedish navy.

Wandering the galleries surrounding the ship, I pondered all these facts but my thoughts were interrupted by two young men also discussing the sad fate of the Vasa. ‘It reminds me of Pirates of the Caribbean,’ said one. ‘Yeah, I can see Johnny Depp on the deck,’ added the other.

A curious fact about humanity: Everyone attempts to create a relative understanding to the extent of their knowledge and experience, in this instance a film series about cartoon pirates to a unique ship whose history is absolutely remarkable.  So I was brought back to the present moment, a harsh reality. Two dunderheads making loud inane comments caused me to remember how something as grandiose and ill-conceived as the Vasa could have been built. Stupid human pride knows no boundaries does it?

This also reminded me why so many people visit somewhere and immediately make comparisons to what they already know, always looking for a link to what is familiar rather than just enjoying the difference for the sake of difference. ‘Those mountains look just like the ones near our place.’ ‘We’ve got the same stuff at home.’ ‘Why did I come all this way just to see what I see from my front window?’ All phrases I’ve overheard time and again. The repetition makes me sad.

Sadness appears inherent in Scandinavian psyche. Is there a more introspective, sensitive and aloof peoples on Earth?

While Swedes are notoriously depressive personality types, they’re also well recognised for letting their hair down when good food and strong drink are involved.

A trick of the travel trade I regularly put to effective use is to dine at a new city’s most innovative and best restaurant soon as possible, the first night in town if available. I did just this in Stockholm at Mathias Dahlgren’s eponymous restaurant in the posh Grand Hotel.

The food was divine of course. Two Michelin stars still occasionally mean something worth noting. Dahlgren’s food delivers cutting-edge Scandinavian cuisine along the lines of Rene Redzepi’s Noma in Copenhagen, if toned down somewhat to satisfy an average Swede’s natural tendency to conservatism. (See www.mathiasdahlgren.com)

Typically for such a respected restaurant, the waiters were excellent and well-informed. What I’ve learned is to ask the most tuned-in waiter where he or she eats on a night off. Invariably I’m supplied with a short list of a city’s most interesting and un-touristy restaurants/diners and an offer to make a booking on the spot for any subsequent nights I wish.

This is how I found Rolf’s Kok (Rolf’s Kitchen) in central Stockholm. Not as fancy or expensive (not by a long shot) as Mathias Dahlgren but the food was just as good, the service just as friendly and I enjoyed the whole experience even more. (See www.rolfskok.se)

My time in Stockholm was running short. I needed to get to Turku in Finland and then Helsinki to catch a flight onwards. I’d manage to walk the old town, Gamla Stan, from end to end without freezing to death. I’d visited the Royal Palace, the Swedish Economics Museum and the National Museum and I’d learned to use the underground metro trains without getting completely lost.

But the Baltic Sea was still icy. I wondered if I could ferry across it to Turku.

Aland:

‘Aland, where’s that?’ I ask. ‘An island between Sweden and Finland,’ I’m told by a Swedish tourism bureaucrat while discussing how I’ll travel between the two countries by boat during late winter. She raises her eyebrows at me as if to say, ‘Don’t you know anything?’

Admittedly, I knew next to nothing about Aland and its tiny capital town, Mariehamn, supposedly named after a Russian empress who liked the place so much her husband named the town after her in celebration of her fondness for its location. Later I discovered that wasn’t true.

What is true is that Aland is actually the name for the archipelago comprising some 6,550 tiny islands (many just rocky dots on a map called ‘skerries’) where over 90% of the 28,300 permanent inhabitants live on Fasta Aland (which means ‘Main Island’) where about 90% of those live in the island’s only sizable town, Mariehamn.

Aland’s name refers to the main island as well as the rest of the archipelago, which is governed by Finland (though it has autonomous status) and where the people speak Swedish.

Confused? I was.

As I learned more about this in-between island called island, I became increasingly interested.

In my opinion, any in-between place which is part of one country but doesn’t share that country’s language and which has gained semi-independence over the years because of demilitarisation and which now belongs essentially to no single country but is governed by its inhabitants in a quasi autonomous state has a lot to like about it.

Aland is close enough to Stockholm’s important harbour, Finland’s mainland and Russian/Prussian historic battles for domination over the Baltic Sea to have been hard fought over. Strategically, Aland is right in the middle of an old war zone. It was affirmed autonomy by the League of Nations in 1921 and effectively demilitarised shortly thereafter.

And I like the repetitive name: Aland (Island) Island. The root of the name Aland comes from Proto-Norse (Ahvaland) and means ‘Land of Water’.

Aland popped up from the shallow Gulf of Bothnia some 10,000 years ago, the blink of an eye geologically speaking. Fasta Aland is the biggest island in the group, granite in its northern reaches and alluvial sedimentary soil in the south where a bit of rich farming is worked on boggy land. The highest point in all of Aland, also on Fasta Aland, is Orrdals Hill which rises up 129 metres. These are low islands that hug the sea’s horizon, ‘Land of Water’ indeed.

Mariehamn is a tidy town inhabited by comfortably well off residents. You know you’re in wintry Scandinavia when you’re surrounded by folk dressed snugly in goose down coats, fashionable boots and fur hats all looking very self-contained and disdainful as they march unsmilingly to business. Gross annual domestic product on Aland averages at about USD$56,000 per capita, so there’s money to be had in these islands.

You need money to live comfortably here. Goods and services on Aland average roughly 20% more expensive than mainland Sweden, which is already one of the world’s most expensive countries for travellers. Aland is a pricy place. No wonder everyone looks so smug.

Incomes are derived from tourism, shipping and retail profits from VAT free alcohol sales. The Viking Line ferry I was aboard, The Isabella, did a roaring trade in duty-free alcohol sales, the primary reason most of its passengers were travelling between Stockholm and Turku. Almost no one disembarked in Mariehamn. The majority of passengers remained on board ship to do their regular tax-free shopping.

Mariehamn was granted its name in 1861 by Tsar Alexander 2 in honour of his Tsarina. I’ve read that Maria Alexandrovna liked the location. I’ve also read that she never visited the place.

At any rate, the town was planned in Russian style with long boulevards and a waterside esplanade linking the two harbours that sideline the isthmus town’s borders. Streets in between follow a rigid grid pattern, perfect for funneling icy winds blowing straight down from the Arctic.

Mariehamn has a small history museum and art gallery that is worth exploring. I spent a couple hours there while idling around town. Admittedly I was the only idler to be seen. Winter is very low season on Aland. The town’s maritime museum is also interesting to gain an understanding of Aland’s quirky political history. The 19^th century preserved sailing barque, 'The Pommern' is nearby and is also worth a look, particularly if you’re a sailor or nautical history buff. (See www.visitaland.com for details on the museums and hotel/restaurant recommendations.)

The town’s hotels looked very dour and resolutely unfriendly. According to the exceptionally helpful tourism bureaucrat I spoke with (desperately seeking advice as I’d made no plans and booked no hotel or restaurant), most of the town’s hotels open in winter were overpriced when Euros were measured against value. ‘So where do you recommend to stay,’ I ask?

‘There’s a place on the other side of the island that I recommend,’ she replied.

‘How do I get there?’

‘You go by taxi, there’s one still operating today, I’ll call him for you.’

Within fifteen minutes my bag is in the back seat and I’m driving through spruce forest, around ice cloaked lakes and picturesque little farms.

The driver says, ‘We have to watch for moose, but I don’t get many calls to go there in winter,’ he says, indicating how remote the other side of the island is and how rarely he ventures there. ‘They wander out of the forest at this time of year looking for food.’

I’m surprised moose live on Aland; it’s a long way from the mainland after all. ‘They walked here across the ice,’ he adds just as I was about to ask how moose came to be living on Aland.

I like this taxi driver. He’s friendly and exchanges information about his island home willingly.

‘The hotel you’re going to is supposed to be nice.’

‘You don’t know it,’ I ask?

‘I’ve never stayed there but people seem to like it.’

My one night on Aland takes a turn for the better. I’m not staying in austere and unfriendly appearing Mariehamn. Instead I’m on an adventure and staying at the only hotel on the far-flung northern side of the island thirty-seven kilometres from downtown Mariehamn.

As it happened, I’m glad I did. The Havs Vidden hotel occupies its own little peninsula overlooking the Bothnian Gulf. It’s small, exclusive and surprisingly connected to the whole world considering what I’d been led to believe by the taxi driver and Mariehamn tourist bureaucrats. I was half expecting to sleep in an igloo decked out with furs. Instead the hotel is all Scandinavian Contemporary design, lots of polished wood, fine fittings and simple style. (See www.havsvidden.com)

The Japanese and Scandinavians have a lot in common regards hotel room design. Form follows function is the rule. Authenticity is the modus operandi. Nothing is out of place or superfluous or sharp. Colour comes from outside, from the woods, water and sky. My room is wooden beige and I like the way it forces me to look out rather than in.

The Scandinavians have an ingrained affinity with nature. Their art and music is connected to it. To listen to a Sibelius symphony is to listen to the sounds of nature, birds whistling overhead, tree boughs cracking with ice, waves lapping against shoreline. You hear the picture.

My room is a cabin set in a patch of forest overlooking ice, snow and water. I’m all alone and I see no moose.

In this location, where nothing else is around, I’m lucky the hotel chef's cooking is delicious. I’m seated at my table by a lovely waitress who calls me by name. Offered an aperitif, subsequently told I’m to be served a three-course dinner. She sets the printed menu before me and asks if I can eat everything. ‘I think so, I’m hungry,’ I reply. ‘No, I mean have you allergies,’ she asks? ‘Only to bad food,’ which is my standard reply and one she understands.

I drank most of a bottle of Rioja while trying to enjoy my dinner in relative peace. (The owners are in residence, taking their dinner at a table near mine. They have a child who screams during most of the evening. The father cuddles the child but no one has the sense to remove it from the dining room so other guests can eat in peace.) After dinner I nursed a brandy in the lobby area near an open fire to contemplate life, liberty and the pursuit of demilitarisation far away from the loud spoiled child who should have been served a bowl of pasta in the kitchen out of earshot. Fortunately, the child’s shrieking didn’t negatively influence how I ultimately felt about the hotel.

Earlier I’d had a swim in the hotel’s indoor pool located in a spacious heated room with floor to ceiling windows  overlooking the sea. I then sat in the sauna alone for a while, had a cold shower, dressed quickly and ran back across the snow and ice to my cabin and dressed for dinner. I slid-slipped across glistening ice covered wooden pathways to the candlelit dining room in the main building which serves as bar, reception and dining room, where I ate well, wrote notes and read my book.

This was one of those nights when I felt all had gone my way, despite one screaming kid. I’d spent my inheritance on the taxi to nowhere and on one night at the hotel on the edge of beyond just to feel truly far and away on Island Island Aland. I couldn’t have been happier, though the taxi fare back to Mariehamn the next morning was a reality shock.

Turku:

Following the one night on otherworldly Aland, by mid-afternoon I boarded another hardy Viking Line ice-breaking ferry to continue the passage across the lower Gulf of Bothnia to Turku, Finland’s old port, its former window on the world.

Previous visits to Finland prepared me for Finnish strangeness. For instance, Finns drink more milk per capita than any other nation, a curious fact. I’ve yet to discover why this is so. Finns love nothing more than to conduct business while slow roasting themselves nude in tiny wooden saunas. This I understand. Finland in winter is bleak and frigid. To sit naked in a hot box on a frigid winter’s day or night feels good. Finns are notorious for their truly ironic senses of humour. (What’s a Finnish joke? I don’t know, what’s a joke? Get it?) The language is of Finno-Ugraic origin, akin to Basque and Hungarian and therefore incomprehensible to linguistically challenged Romance Language speakers like me.

Finnish history is one of stalwart resistance to larger powers determined to put them out of existence i.e. Russia and Sweden. I admire the fact that Finland has survived intact past the 20^th century. Finnish diplomacy has always metaphorically walked a tightrope of manipulation, acquiescence and courage under fire.

Finns make the Swedes look almost affable by comparison. Getting a Finn to crack a smile either requires a lot of booze or an innate comic ability akin to evincing a laugh at a North Korean Security Council meeting. Alcohol sold in Finland is horrendously expensive (when not bought VAT free in Aland) so coercing an unprompted laugh from a Finn can be a pricy undertaking.

Perhaps I’m being unfair. Many Finns I’ve met are warm souls keen to interact with strangers. Maybe I’m passing on stereotyped impressions?

I stayed at the Park Hotel in Turku, a small-sized boutique hotel near the old cathedral and central to the old city centre. I liked the Park Hotel. (See www.parkhotelturku.fi) My room was small but cozy. I felt welcomed by all the hotel employees as an esteemed guest and not as a tax invoice.

Run by a local family, the mistress of the house gave me invaluable advice on where to dine during my one night in Turku, which is how I found the Rocca restaurant and where I enjoyed as fine a dinner as I had at vastly more expensive restaurants in Stockholm and Oslo. (See www.rocca.fi)

I really came to Turku to visit the Sibelius Museum. The great composer Jean Sibelius never lived in Turku (you can visit his home ‘Ainola’ outside Helsinki) but he did have a profound affect on the Turku Music Conservatorium which was instrumental in setting up the museum to the Finnish musical hero. (See www.abo.fi/fak/hf/musik/eng/museum/valkommen)

My visit to the Sibelius Museum was wonderful. I paid my 3 Euro entrance fee and chatted amiably to the young man who was running the reception desk. ‘You’re the only visitor,’ he informed me. ‘Do you want to hear anything in particular?’

‘What do you mean,’ I asked?

‘I can play on the loudspeaker system whatever you want to hear.’

Being the only visitor has its privileges obviously.

‘Okay, how about some of his more obscure violin pieces?’

‘Sure, I’ll put some on now,’ which is how it came to pass that I enjoyed the unique pleasure of having the Sibelius Museum all to myself while I wandered its galleries and displays filled with the master composer's instruments and copies of his scores all the while accompanied by a personalised soundtrack.

The greatest cathedral in all Finland is only 150 metres walk from the Sibelius Museum. For an hour, I sat alone in a back pew watching the late winter’s light play shadow tricks on stained glass windows while humming Sibelius tunes to myself.

Later that same day I caught a fast train to Helsinki then a bus connection to its airport, allowing plenty of time for rumination on how travelling in Scandinavia during late winter is rather a lovely thing to do.

Tom Neal Tacker visited Stockholm with assistance from Stockholm’s Tourist Authority.

Naked Routes:

The Viking Line ferries travel daily throughout the year (weather conditions permitting) between Stockholm and Turku with stops at Mariehamn. The trip takes approximately 12 hours, can be broken in half with an overnight stay in Mariehamn and is very scenic. The ship passes through Stockholm’s inner archipelago, its small forested islands sporting the favoured summer homes of the city’s elite. See www.vikingline.com

Naked Sleeps:

Stockholm’s First Hotel Amaranten is a centrally located modern hotel with about as much style as a Greyhound Bus Terminus. My key card opened a room that was already occupied. Open bags were on the bed and a make-up case was in the bathroom. Luckily the guest was not. Back at reception, I handed over the key card and said, ‘You’ve assigned me an occupied room.’ ‘No I haven’t,’ was the curt reply. The receptionist offered no immediate apology and tried to blame me for entering a room that was not mine. Alarmed at the obvious security risk the mistake clearly posed I repeated, ‘You’ve given me a room with someone already in it!’ She checked her computer records and said, ‘You’re correct. I’ll give you another room.’ Still no apology was offered. ‘I’ll upgrade you to another room.’ When I opened the door to the new room it was the same standard size and look as the one I’d be given before which was already occupied. I decided not to pursue the matter further. Sometimes it’s useless to fight a battle that’s already been lost. See www.firsthotels.com

Naked Tips:

Local resident adventure specialist Tomas Bergenfeldt runs a company aptly called Stockholm Adventures specialising in hiking, cycling and kayaking tours around Stockholm’s richly forested hinterland and idyllic inner archipelago. Had I visited Stockholm in spring, summer or autumn instead of winter, I would gladly have spent a couple days seeing Stockholm’s natural wonders from a bicycle or kayak seat as well as on foot. See www.stockholmadventures.com

For more information about Stockholm’s many attractions, museums, special exhibitions, concerts, public transport and tickets, see www.visitstockholm.com

For more information about what to do and see in Turku, see www.visitturku.fi

Tiny Onancock, (Pronounced ‘Oh-NAN-cock’. Don’t make the same mistake I did when stopping in a cafe to ask for directions to ‘ON-An-Cock’. I was politely corrected despite being given a harsh look) is Eastern Shore Virginia’s loveliest town. Blessed with a quiet and secluded harbour, two intersecting main streets lined with a small yet interesting assortment of shops, boasting two good restaurants (Bezzotto’s and The Charlotte Hotel restaurant) and graced with lovingly restored Victorian houses, here is where the description ‘quiet backwater’ can be best applied.

Chesapeake charm, too far from the big cities to attract day-tripping crowds and holiday house owners. There’s a strong sense of community here, largely due to this part of Virginia often being ignored by state legislators across the big Bay and far away in Richmond. [caption id="attachment_2648" align="alignnone" width="404"] Onancock harbour authority building[/caption]

At the end of the road at the great bay’s final exit into the Atlantic sits Cape Charles. One of the region’s most historic towns, where history is as common as crab cakes, this is indeed something to boast about. Cape Charles is an excellent place to hang back and relax in the sweetly somnolent atmosphere. It has one of the most extensive arrays of Victorian architecture on the East Coast and is mostly overlooked by the crowds rushing up and down the interstate highways over the Bay to the west.

In fact, Cape Charles is a good place to watch the sun set over the water, an unusual claim to make on the eastern seaboard of the USA if you're not on Florida's Gulf Coast.The Cape Charles Museum and Welcome Center is inviting and useful to gain further insight into the origin of the town. When I ask a center volunteer about Cape Charles’ architectural heritage she hands me a map and tells me to  'Wander around a while and soak in the feel of the town. We’re not like any other place in Virginia. We’re special, kind of remote and most people who find us really want to be here.'

The nearby Virginia National Wildlife Refuge is another jewel in the Chesapeake crown for birdwatchers and wildlife enthusiasts, as is the Kiptopeke State Park, well known for its population of hawks and waterfowl.

Perhaps Cape Charles is an appropriate town in which to contemplate why Chesapeake Bay exists as it does today. Unlike other drowned river valleys scattered about the globe that make up the world’s great bays, Chesapeake was formed by a cataclysmic event that occurred approximately 35.5 million years ago during the Eocene Epoch. A bolide, (meaning large asteroid or comet), more than a mile wide plunged into the water just off Cape Charles. Travelling at a speed estimated to be 113,000 kilometres per hour, it obliterated all life on the east coast of America at the time. Billions of tonnes of ocean water were propelled upwards and vaporised. Millions of tonnes of rocks and debris were ejected into the atmosphere. The impact crater plunged hundreds of feet below the earth’s surface and remained hidden until scientists discovered it in 1983 when studying satellite images.

Fossil remains have been subjects of fascination since Chesapeake Bay was discovered by Europeans over four hundred years ago. The Algonquin tribes that occupied the region for millennium must have been equally intrigued by the number of prehistoric creatures embedded in calcified rocks sticking out of the Bay’s many cliffs and ledges.

Chesapeake Bay has had a powerful impact on America, not because it was formed by one of the greatest explosions ever recorded in the history of the Earth, but also because it witnessed the birth of a nation, fed its earliest inhabitants, created untold riches for innumerable families and provided homes to countless species of fish, waterfowl and other animals. The Algonquin people got the name right; it is simply the ‘Greatest Water’.

Naked Facts:

Naked Sleeps:

The Inn at Onancock is an absolute delight. Owner operated, immaculately clean, well-appointed and to-die-for breakfasts make this small guesthouse the best place to stay in the whole lower Delmarva Peninsula. The drinks and canapes served each evening provide guests an excellent opportunity to exchange travel tips. The owners are always on hand, offering advice and suggestions about the region. They're a wealth of local knowledge. See www.innatonancock.com [caption id="attachment_2641" align="alignnone" width="209"] Typical guestroom at Inn at Onancock[/caption]

Naked Tips:

For more information about Cape Charles and Onancock see www.capecharles.org or www.onancock.org

For more information about Chesapeake's national park system and waterways including the Choptank River see www.nps.gov/cajo/

Chesapeake Bay is a year-round destination, though summer is easily the most popular time and consequently very crowded. Winters may be very cold though clear days and nights make it a special season with the least number of visitors. Mid-summer temperatures are often very hot with high humidity but onshore breezes from both the ocean and bay help relieve the heat. Spring and Autumn are typically the best seasons.

The ocean floor plummets over 1,000 metres only a few kilometres from Kaikoura’s beach and tiny harbour. Sperm whales hunt while travellers needn’t venture far offshore to watch them surface in between deep dives for tasty squid and fish.

The huge population of local dusky dolphins and visiting seabirds that inhabit the area taking advantage of the abundance of seafood are added wildlife drawcards.

In a day, I ventured twice to the waters off Kaikoura’s spectacular coastline, first to mingle during a whale watching tour amongst a pod of young male Sperm whales as they repeatedly sounded between deep dives.

The planet’s largest carnivores (Moby Dick should ring a literary note) aren’t as frisky on the surface as Southern Humpback whales but what they may lack in acrobatic skills they make up for in sheer presence. Encountering these ocean wanderers is a rare occurrence. Kaikoura is one of the few places where sightings are dependable (the Azores islands in the mid-Atlantic is another).

Kaikoura is unique in that deep water is so close to shore. In fewer than thirty minutes leaving the town’s harbour, whales are seen lolling at the surface refilling their lungs and oxygenating their blood before the next plunge downwards.

While I know Melville’s tale of the great white whale was based on an apocryphal story and likely exaggerated to suit the plot, I loved his book as much for its telling of the mythical whale as I did for the human allegory. ‘Call me Ishmael’ as metaphor but call me Tom when it comes to admiring rare leviathans.

The morning began misty and cool, ideal for whale watching. The weather cleared by midday and the sun appeared for the day’s next excursion, an albatross tour.

The whale-watching tour boat was crowded and noisy. The smaller albatross watching tour boat was nearly empty and quiet.

What does this say about comparable attractions? Whale watching is big business that has crossed over into mass tourism. Albatross watching is by contrast, new business that caters to aficionados.

Sadly, the world’s albatross are at peril. Long-ling fishing continues to decimate global populations (despite improved fishing hooks that release caught albatross) and ongoing loss of habitat due to increased human populations plagues nesting colonies. Global warming and reduced fishing stocks add more pressure to these magnificent birds and their ability to breed fast enough to recover.

To see a Wandering albatross in flight is as rare an occurrence as seeing a Sperm whale lift its tail as it dives into the depths.

The Wandering albatross has the longest wingspan of any bird while its body is twice the size of a goose.

In short, it’s a bloody big bird with a menacing hooked beak that could lop off my hand if it came too close.

Just off Kaikoura, it’s possible to get up close and personal with a Sperm whale and a Wandering albatross all in the space of one day.

Dusky dolphins in their hundreds also call the waters off Kaikoura home. These acrobats of the water tumble and twirl high into the air, seemingly just for the fun of it.

The dolphins accompanied both boats, in the morning during the whale watching tour and the afternoon during the albatross watching tour. Each time I saw a dolphin hurl itself out of the water, I smiled and laughed at the same time. My heart soared with them.

Kaikoura is a special place, not only for its incredible wildlife and scenic position where sheer mountains meet narrow green pastures close against deep blue sea.

It’s also home to one of New Zealand’s best cultural experiences.

Lucky for me, I had enough time to enjoy a half day’s outing with Maurice Manawatu of Maori Tours Kaikoura. Maurice and his wife Heather began showing visitors their side of Kaikoura back in 2002. Since then they’ve won numerous awards for their impeccably run family business that shows interested visitors what local Maori culture is all about.

The tour begins in a forest near the private marae linked to the Manawatu family and their relatives. The marae is private, open by invitation only but Maurice has permission to use the access road to the site with its stunning views over the Kaikoura coastline (you may see a whale or albatross from the cliff).

During a very friendly welcoming ceremony where Maurice allocates each tour member a Maori name, the family history is recounted in an easily comprehended summary, allowing everyone special insight into how Maori culture evolved over the centuries and how this particular family came to live in Kaikoura. It’s a fascinating account of living history interspersed with song and a lot of laughs.

The tour takes in another favoured Kaikoura spot, parkland near the beach where Maurice and another family member show guests how to weave Maori baskets and other examples of treasured craft making. This could top the kitsch stakes but it doesn’t. Instead it’s a lot of fun, very interesting and interactive as well.

The half day’s tour finishes at Maurice and Heather’s home where guests are treated to a splendid afternoon tea and a chance to mingle with other family members while comparing notes and impressions with other tour guests.

I’ve done a few Maori cultural tours before, most frequently at Rotorua. While Rotorua is Kiwi-central for Maori driven cultural tourism, it’s big business that serves mass tourism, which is done well but often lacks authenticity.

The whole Maori Tours Kaikoura experience is completely authentic, ringing true at each moment. Maori Tours Kaikoura includes these words in its Social Responsibility Statement:

‘We believe in improving communities and play an active role in pursuit of a better place to live. We recognize we have a special obligation to whanau, hapu and iwi and this is reflected in our policies and actions. We care about our staff……..assist in community projects, businesses and individuals where we can; and encourage our staff and whanau to experience the joy of volunteering. We realise it takes commitment to make a difference in our community.’

Their Environmental Policy Statement reads in part:

‘As Maori children we are taught from birth that if we remove the core of ourselves and ruin the fundamental nature of the world we live in, there will be nothing left for our children, their children and the generations to come. We acknowledge the natural environment in which we operate is a valuable resource and we actively support its preservation and conservation which is shown in our policies and actions.’

This could also be read as a mission statement for Kaikoura itself, the town where eco-tourism isn’t merely a catchphrase or a PR stunt to attract tourists.

Kaikoura is a place where a few actions speak volumes of words. Here is where the environment is truly respected not only as a means to livelihood and income but also as the essence of life itself.

Tom Neal Tacker travelled to Kaikoura as a guest of Christchurch/Canterbury Tourism.

Naked Tips:

See www.maoritours.co.nz for more information about Maurice and Heather Manawatu’s excellent day tours.

For more information about Kaikoura whale sighting tours and bookings, see www.whalewatch.co.nz

For more information about Kaikoura albatross tours and bookings see www.albatrossencounter.co.nz

Naked Routes:

Kaikoura is approximately 2.5 hours drive north of Christchurch or approximately 2 hours drive south of Picton.

Both cities are frequently served by Air New Zealand. See www.airnewzealand.com

Naked Sleeps:

New Zealand does luxury lodges just about better than anywhere else in the world. While in Kaikoura treat yourself to at least one night and one dinner at Hapuku Lodge & Treehouses located approximately ten kilometres north of Kaikoura township on a sprawling coastal property.

My one-bedroom ‘treehouse’ ten metres above the ground sported gob-smacking views over picturesque paddocks, surf-washed beach and nearby mountains.

The room was an absolute treat of peace and quiet with all the mod-cons I’d ever need. A full sized spa bath and walk-in shower boasted top-of-the-line locally made toiletries. My bed was perfect, were I a princess the pea would never be discovered and I’d never have anything to complain about.

Catering at Hapuku Lodge is flawless. I ate my dinner at the kitchen facing bar so as to chat with the chefs, one of whom was visiting from Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California (one of the world’s most famous restaurants and the first in America to be organic well before the word became trendy). She kept supplying me with dishes I ‘must try’. Never one to say no to such offers, I was happy as a pig in the proverbial, full with food from the farm, not too heavy, not too light while prepared with skill and devotion to superb locally sourced ingredients. Wines poured by the glass were a bravura mix of Kiwi and imported French and Australian that perfectly matched each course of the degustation.

Breakfast in the same dining room where I ate dinner was equally good. Had I wanted it served in my ‘treehouse’, it could have been easily arranged.

See www.hapukulodge.com for more information and bookings.

The Marumaru Atua is a double-hulled canoe/catamaran of about twenty-two metres length from bow to stern with a deck area of roughly fifteen metres by five metres. A mega-yacht this is not. A reminder of great voyages past, it is.

Sporting three russet coloured lateen sails decorated with ancient Polynesian motifs, she flies across the ocean's surface like a wandering albatross, beautiful and alone. There is no keel; the four metres long wooden tiller steers the 'vaka' easily.

A small rattan roofed galley with enough space for two adults sits amidships.

A single toilet with door is positioned in front of the galley faces the bow. When in use, leave the door open or closed; it's up to you. On such a small vessel everyone knows where everyone else is while privacy is respected. A bucket with rope attached is the flushing mechanism.

The remainder of the deck is open to the elements with two storage compartments that also serve as bench seats. Each separate canoe hull has enough space for eight bunk beds, sixteen altogether. There’s not enough space below deck to swing a cat, had one been aboard, creating a cozy arrangement that could make or break friendships.

To comply with contemporary insurance regulations, the ‘vaka’ is equipped with a GPS and radio but we don’t rely on either. Running lights and cabin lights are powered by solar panels fitted to the stern timbers above the transom. During extended periods of cloudy weather a corkscrew propeller generator can be lowered between the hulls through a hatch to add a bit of extra juice. For our short journey, the propeller is lifted and secured beneath the deck.

Wind energy is all we need this night. Given the weather conditions, there’s plenty of that.

I’m one of seven lucky passengers, four other writers, one public relations expert and a Pittman family friend who’s checking out the facilities on this maiden ‘tourist’ voyage.

The weather hasn’t kind for three days. A strong southeast wind is pushing waves to threatening heights. The narrow entrance to Aitutaki’s lagoon is closed due to rough seas.

No matter. We’re intent on pursuing the last voyage of 2013 before the summer cyclone season begins. A bit of nasty weather won’t put off true sailors but land-loving passengers may feel otherwise. A decision is taken to sail the ‘vaka’ in the direction of Aitutaki for approximately seventy nautical miles then turn round and return to Rarotonga, more or less matching the distance of a one-way trip from Rarotonga to Aitutaki.

Two watches are assigned to the crew, the first from sunset until midnight, the second from midnight until dawn. Along with Pittman another Master Navigator and our Captain during this short voyage is ex-navy officer Peia Pataia. Pataia assumes overall command for the safety of the crew and passengers.

Pataia, Erena Young, Alex Olon and a young apprentice from a local school, Malik, take the first watch. Tua Pittman, his brother Noel Pittman, Tefini (‘T’) Pekapo and Thomas Wynne take the second.

The swell reaches four metres once we’re a few nautical miles beyond Rarotonga’s sheltering reef. The Samoan Trench lies underneath. Bottom is over three thousand metres down. Once outside the reef, the water colour metamorphoses from tropical aquamarine to a deep steely blue.

Three crew members are struck down with seasickness almost immediately, a common malady remedied only by steadfast dedication and gradual physical adaptation. Ginger tablets, Fisherman’s Friend lozenges and anti-nausea drugs may assist in reducing the symptoms of seasickness but they won’t cure it. My fellow passengers alternate between extreme seasickness and mild queasiness.

Another writer, a friend well known for his bush-walking and mountain biking prowess spends the whole fourteen hours voyage either rolled up in the fetal position on the deck or with his head hanging off the side filling the ocean with his stomach contents. By 21:00, all other fellow passengers are either trying to sleep down below on narrow and rocking bunks or curled up in blankets on the wet deck. Some hang heads over the side, muttering occasional groans. But not me.

This was an experience in which I didn’t want to miss a minute. Requesting permission to sit on either of two stern end navigator’s seats, I happily sat through each seven hour watch, wide awake, often wet as a random wave washed over me, watching moonrise and moon set, the entire night's panoply of celestial grandeur, gazing at Venus rising as the sun set and later following its disappearance into the first light of dawn. Canopus the Dog Star became a familiar friend. I learned the difference between the false Southern Cross and the real Southern Cross. Orion’s Belt was a constant feature, nearly always highest in the sky and eminently visible.

I knew that if I went below and stretched out in a bunk, the risk of seasickness would increase. As long as I fixated on the horizon, the stars, the passing clouds and the moon’s position, I’d be fine.

I was reminded of something very important that night. Time really does stretch when modern markers are left behind. I lost track of it, was lost in my thoughts and thrilled to be alone. With nearly seven billion humans on this small planet, it’s not often I get to say that.

Peia, Erena and Alex were mostly quiet during their watch. Tua, Tefini (‘T’) and Thomas were also very quiet. Noel and Malik were both prostrate with seasickness, passed out on deck. Thomas suffers extreme seasickness but stayed his watch nonetheless. The man is a hero. I watched him sit the tiller in between frequent bouts of retching over the stern. Brief snippets of chat were rare, exchanges of information mostly. Checking position and adjusting the tiller to stay on course doesn’t necessitate a dialogue. I was mesmerised by the silver light dancing on the waves. Occasionally phosphorescence lingered in the tiller’s wake, like a glittering refrain at the end of a rousing speech, though nothing was to be heard other than waves crashing against the wooden hulls and wind ruffling full sails.   

A thousand or so years ago, early Polynesians ventured across the planet’s largest ocean in search of new lands. They navigated mostly by the stars, a permanent planetarium seemingly embedded in their brains. These ingenious explorers migrated across huge expanses of uncharted waters without printed maps to guide them.

A few years ago, in commemoration of his ancestors’ remarkable explorations Pittman helped build a ‘vaka’, essentially a large canoe capable of deep sea travelling, at once recreating a vessel that the earliest Polynesians used to circumnavigate the Pacific Ocean well before European pioneers ‘discovered’ the unknown world. In building the ‘vaka’ Pittman and his friends simultaneously reconnected with their heritage.

That recreated canoe, the ‘vaka’ Marumaru Atua (meaning ‘Under the Protection of God’) sailed with six other canoes across the Pacific Ocean through the Golden Gate of San Francisco, proving that it was possible to sail vast distances without the benefit of modern navigation equipment.

Since that voyage in 2011/2012, the Marumaru Atua has been based in the Cook Islands at Rarotonga. Tua Pittman, his crew and benefactors have given the ‘vaka’ to the people of Rarotonga as a reminder of their intrepid past. Managed by Pittman and company, it now runs regular three hour evening trips beyond Rarotonga’s fringing reef, allowing passengers to witness southern stars far away from city lights as the big canoe sails beyond the island’s encircling reef on a short bout of sky tripping.

In March 2014, the Marumaru Atua and crew will begin monthly four day return voyages from Rarotonga to Aitutaki, approximately 180 kilometres north. Leaving late afternoon, the ‘vaka’ sails overnight to Aitutaki reaching the glorious lagoon’s shipping entrance by mid-morning. Passengers will have the choice of staying on board the ‘vaka’ or transferring to other accommodation on the island, returning to Rarotonga two days later.

Our brief trip is the ‘trial run’ in preparation for paying passengers. I’m pleased to report that a cruise on the Marumaru Atua from Rarotonga to Aitutaki is unique and should be on every real traveller’s so-called ‘bucket list’.

Sometimes the travel gods decide to bestow a gift. Fortunate recipients of this gift are well advised to remember it for they have received something both rare and priceless.

It has been my great fortune to be the recipient of random travel beneficence; this voyage beyond Rarotonga on the Marumaru Atua is one of the most memorable trips I’ve ever been lucky enough to experience.

For travellers interested in living Polynesian history, a voyage on the Marumaru Atua is essential.

For inquiries and bookings on the Marumaru Atua’s trips outside Rarotonga’s reef and to Aitutaki, contact Tua Pittman or Carmel Beattie at Island Discoveries via email: bookings@islanddiscoveries.co.ck

If a voyage on a ‘vaka’ doesn’t float your boat, don’t worry, there’s plenty else to discover on a visit to the Cook Islands.

Best known for its ‘newlywed and nearlydead’ customer base, a recent  expansion of Cook Islands’ tourism choices should appeal to visitors not celebrating a marriage nor interested in spending days welded to a banana lounge by a pool next to a white sand beach, though both those options remain very popular.

Rarotonga is basically Cook Islands central. The country’s only international airport is on Rarotonga and it’s the biggest island in the archipelago. Cook Islands’ total population is fewer than 20,000 inhabitants. Approximately 12,000 people live on Rarotonga while approximately 1,800 more call Aitutaki home.

Rarotonga is a large volcanic island with peaks rising to over 600 metres in its densely forested centre. A double lane road of thirty-two kilometres circles the island. There is no cross-island road as the interior is too steep and rugged. A public bus runs two services, clockwise and anti-clockwise each thirty minutes. Passengers are picked up and dropped off wherever they choose to stop, sometimes only ten metres from one stop to the next. The night bus service runs clockwise only but not on Sundays. Hire car companies operate reliable services, renting small vehicles (Daihatsu mini convertibles are popular) and scooters to qualified drivers. A visitor’s driver’s licence is compulsory and can be purchased at the police station or through the rental agency. Bicycles are very popular transport options as well.

Rarotonga’s best beaches are at Muri and Titikaveka on the southern side. At Nikao and Arorangi on the northwest side more lovely beaches stretch along the lagoon. They’re not quite as gleaming smooth sandy white as those on the southern side but the sunset views are better. Dogs are frequent beach bums. Generally friendly and looking for free entertainment, local dogs have taken to working on behalf of Cook Islands Tourism as semi-official 'meeters and greeters'. A volunteer animal rescue program began working in the Cook Islands earlier this century. Now all animals are vaccinated and 'fixed'. No longer are visitors confronted by the distressing sight of injured and abandoned animals left to fend for themselves. Each dog I met on Rarotonga (there are no dogs on Aitutaki) was very friendly and good company.

Little Avarua is the main town where the government meets and the country’s largest market, Punanga Nui, is held each Saturday morning.  Rarotonga’s surprisingly active nightlife is centred in Avarua. Check out Trader Jack’s and Whatever! bars on Thursday or Friday nights to see how Rarotongans socialise when they’re not at church or work. Saturday night revelries are a tad quiet, church going starts at 9am and it’s considered socially bad form to turn up nursing a hangover.

All major Rarotongan resorts sport restaurants and bars, some more lively than others. If your holiday wish list includes lively interactive post dinner activities, be advised to confirm the entertainment options when booking a room.

Aitutaki is much smaller, approximately seven kilometres long by three wide and is a remnant of an extinct volcano with an enormous encircling lagoon. Maungapu, is the highest point at 124 metres. Aitutaki’s lagoon is dotted with over a dozen motu that conjure images of tropical heaven: eye-popping white sand, water comprising every shade of blue, fringing coconut palms and coral gardens enticingly peppered with giant clams, black pearl oysters and an encyclopaedia’s worth of Indo-Pacific fish and crustacean species. I’ve seen quite a few tropical lagoons during my travels but few lagoons rival Aitutaki in terms of sheer blissful perfection.

Eleven churches operate on Aitutaki. Considering the population is fewer than 1,800 people, an impressive per capita ratio of proselytising opportunities abound. Christianity rules over all on Aitutaki. A conservative movement to stop all Sunday flights has a strong following.

Cook Islands takes up a lot of space, over two million square kilometres, almost all of it water. Fifteen islands comprise the archipelago, eight in the southern group (including Rarotonga and Aitutaki, by far the most visited and populous) and seven in the northern group. Apart from the airports on Rarotonga and Aitutaki serviced by frequent Air Rarotonga flights, most of the other islands in the southern group can be reached only by charter flights. Both Penrhyn and Pukapuka in the northern group can be reached by air, charter flights only.

The Cooks is a mix of volcanic islands ringed by fringing reefs or coral atolls with lagoons of varying sizes. For more information about the whole country including the thirteen islands not often frequented by international travellers, check out www.cookislands.travel

My job while on this trip to the Cook Islands was to explore what else there is to do other than get married, honeymoon or lash out on an expensive retirement trip.

That I reconnected with my inner soul during my night on the Marumaru Atua was purely incidental and a trick of lucky fate.

Here’s a list of ‘Must Do’ activities on Rarotonga. I list them in no particular order of importance.

A ‘Navigating Pacific Skies’ progressive dinner with Tua Pittman should be a number one priority for all visitors keen on Polynesian history. As a precursor either to the three hour excursion beyond Rarotonga’s fringing reef or the four day trip to Aitutaki, this dinner in Tua’s excellent company starts at the Waterline restaurant and ends at a private home for dessert and is highly recommended as an introduction to a trip on the Marumaru Atua. Tua chauffeurs guests around the island while pointing out important stars, explaining navigation skills and relating Polynesian history. Inquiries and bookings can be made via email: bookings@islanddiscoveries.co.ck

Sunday’s 10am church service at Arorongi’s Cooks Islands Christian church. It’s free and better still, allows a glimpse into local culture in the truest sense. The service I attended was led by the new pastor recently returned to Rarotonga after living in Sydney’s western suburbs. Replete with song and laughter, fire and brimstone, this was old time religion Cook Islands style.

My mobile phone couldn’t lock on to a signal during my first two days on Rarotonga. Frustrated by the lack of connectivity, I resigned myself to be off-grid for at least a week. Seated in a pew on the upper balcony of this church, I listened intently to the first of a number of hymns sung by a group of regular parishioners dressed to the nines looking like they’d won a trip to a prestigious awards event. Apparently, like the Welsh, Tahitians and Samoans, Cook Islanders can carry a tune as if musicality is an inherent genetic trait, they sing like angels. Suddenly, my phone locked on to the local provider and text messages silently beeped their way into the service. Another fellow writer seated beside me, (she’s something of a tech-head), sent me a sideways glance as we both raised our eyes upwards and muttered, ‘Jesus!’ A funny thing happened on the way to church...

As a matter of particular interest, the preacher made several erroneous comments about ‘Diwali’ infiltrating pure Cook Islands Christianity. A number of Indian Fijian migrants have settled in Rarotonga in search of better paid work than can be secured in Fiji. While I was there Diwali was being celebrated by this vibrant Fijian Indian community. Diwali is one of the most important and cherished holidays during the Hindu year, a commemoration of the goddess of learning and light when children are invited by teachers to visit their schools though the schools are closed for the holiday, often bringing new books to stock the library. As proof that knowledge conquers ignorance, it’s an invaluable teaching aid. Most Hindu homes have candles or lanterns placed in doorways to banish dark evil spirits and to welcome in light and learning. It’s a wonderful holiday, not threatening to Christianity in any way at all, especially in a place as overwhelmingly Christian as the Cook Islands. Though I was upset by the ravings of an ignorant preacher who didn’t know that ‘Diwali’ is a revered Hindu holiday and not a religion of itself, I was interested to observe how the congregation reacted to the sermon. Judging by the looks on people’s faces, the reaction was fairly nonplussed. At the subsequent morning tea when all the congregation and visitors are invited into a nearby public hall to share donated food and non-alcoholic drinks, the talk I overheard was gossipy and fun, not frightful nor fuelled by resentment. I suspect the preacher has since been advised to monitor his hate mongering in public. 

A Raro Safari 4WD tour of the island’s back roads and mountainous interior is terrific fun. Owned and operated by local environmentally minded enthusiasts of Rarotonga’s soft wilderness areas, this half day trip in an extravagantly decorated open 4WD is a lot of fun as well as insightful. We enjoyed the company of our guide, Mr Useless (many Cook Islanders are best known by their nicknames).

Mr Useless was anything but useless though he was occasionally a bit grumpy and difficult to understand, not because of a lack of English but because an absence of teeth often turned his words into unintelligible mumbles.

A Raro Safari tour is a fun day out following a somewhat random itinerary. Ask a lot of questions, show keen interest and the tour will certainly evolve into a very educational experience. See www.rarosafaritours.co.ck

Definitely more fun than any of us anticipated was the Koka Lagoon Cruise on Muri’s fabulously picturesque lagoon.

Billed as a ‘Glass Bottom Boat Adventure’, I had my doubts about authenticity as a driving force. I was dead wrong about that assumption.

The four crew members, Captain Awesome, Captain Amazing, Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain Cook (Captain Cook was the head cook for the afternoon lunch included in the cruise) proved that a day out in a small boat doing very touristy things like snorkelling around a coral renovation project, or snorkelling among large fish looking for a handout can be a wonderful way to pass a day in paradise.

Enjoying a picnic lunch on a motu just offshore from Muri’s beach while being entertained by this outstandingly energetic crew who taught us how to climb a coconut palm, how to husk a coconut, how to differentiate coconuts according to maturity, usefulness and flavour, how to plait palm fronds to make a hat or plate and how to play a ukulele made for a very full day. I tipped my old fishing cap to them all.

These guys could show a seasoned Vegas troupe a thing or three about how to maintain performance enthusiasm. I couldn’t have loved it more. See www.kokalagooncruises.com

The Cook Islands Whale & Wildlife Centre is a must visit for travellers who are concerned about Cook Islands’ marine environment and its preservation. Owned and run by local heroine Nan Hauser, who is an internationally recognised expert on whales, dolphins and porpoises. Her work on cetacean habitats, their migration routes and how their very existence is now dependent on humans learning to leave them alone to regenerate after the decimations of the past two whaling centuries is widely heralded. As a generalised information facility about cetaceans from around the world, it is invaluable and Cook Islanders are fortunate to have it as a resource and research centre. See www.whaleresearch.org

The Cook Islands National Museum and Library in Avarua’s uptown area at the corner of Victoria Road and Constitution Park is a very small museum that packs a punch. Open Mon-Fri 9am until 4pm. Entry fee is CI$5.

The Saturday market, Punanga Nui in Avarua’s downtown area is where everyone comes to shop or just hang out. Like mixed crafts and produce markets the world over, a visit to this lively site is obligatory for all curious visitors who are intent on gaining insight into what makes the Cook Islands tick.

Top stalls are: Farm Direct Pearls for some of the best and most reputable deals on locally raised black pearls, Rito Cold Pressed Coconut Oil Products for edible flavoured oils, health and beauty products, Tokerau Jim for hand-crafted art objects and jewellery and KMD Ukuleles for its range of expertly made ukuleles from native woods.

Of course numerous stalls selling fresh juices, fruit smoothies, icy frappes and healthy (or not) small meals and snacks are everywhere. Take your pick and pig out.

A visit to Island Living store is highly recommended. Owned and run by Minar Purotu Henderson, this little shop is a gem which sells locally made and designed fabrics and crafts. The noni juice produced from the trees at Island Living’s garden plantation is on sale here. As a cure-all for everything from gout to cancer, the benefits of noni juice are highly regarded by all Cook Islanders.

Henderson also runs the adjoining Plantation House restaurant which serves a set menu dinner for about twelve guests once a week, usually on Wednesday evenings. She’s a wonderful cook and uses her huge garden to great effect in the preparation of her special feasts. See www.islandlivingshop.com for reservations.

A Nature Walk with Pa is a unique treat. He’s a local hero and the recent winner of a prestigious tourism award. Pa is over seventy years old, walks barefoot dressed in a loincloth and takes limited numbers of guests on a hike around the Needle, a sharp spire carved by wind and rain from an ancient volcanic plug and into the island’s jungle interior. During the trek Pa also explains the benefits of indigenous plants as curatives and life preservers. He’s living proof of how a good diet and exercise may lead to a long healthy life. See www.pastreks.com

The sunset cultural tour and show at the Highland Paradise Cook Islands Cultural Centre held two or three times per week is a mixed bag of treats. The marae on the mountain is clearly an important historical site and the talk about it and its significance to Rarotongan culture is really interesting. While emcee Danny, dressed in full Cook Islands chiefly regalia, instructed guests not to cross the boundary to the marae unless invited, a woman accidentally crossed the line into the marae. Within seconds, a very large coconut nearly conked the man standing next to her on his head. Had it struck, he would surely have died. A marae can be a powerfully spooky place. The show and dinner that follows the visit to the adjoining marae is full of great music and dancing but Danny’s incessant patter is hammier than a Porky the Pig cartoon. See www.highlandparadise.co.ck

On Aitutaki Island these two ‘Must Do’ activities are highly recommended.

The Punarei Village Cultural Tour is an absolute wonder. The small company is owned and managed by Aitutaki born Ngaa Kitai Taria, a trained archaeologist who is now dedicating himself to revivifying Aitutaki culture as it was before Christianity’s impact caused the old ways to nearly disappear.

The half day tour includes lunch prepared from a do-it-yourself umukai (earth oven), a visit to an ancient marae and Ngaa’s full attention as he escorts visitors around his work-in-progress, Punarei village.

This excellent day out was a highlight of the visit to Aitutaki. I learnt more about Aitutaki’s past (and its future) in a scarce few hours than I ever would have learned traipsing around the island’s eleven churches in search of real or imagined history.

The lunch we helped prepare was actually quite delicious. As the umukai was truly authentic, the pork, chicken and fish tasted of mild smoke from fresh banana leaves layered over the hot rocks. The plantains, pumpkin, cassava and red bananas roasted along side were just as delicious. Fresh mangoes, guava, passionfruits and papayas were served with breadfruit salad and taro greens from the village garden.

We laughed and talked about how much Polynesian culture, politics and society has changed since Captain William Bligh first visited Aitutaki in ¹⁷⁹⁸. The whole experience is both very moving and highly educational. See www.aitutakiculture.com

Aitutaki is rightly famous for its spectacularly beautiful lagoon. You’d be crazy to visit this island without venturing out on the lagoon. For that, you’ll need a boat and a guide.

Wet and Wild is owned and run by local experts, Quentin and his wife Malea. Their youngest child, daughter Elani accompanied us for the day on the lagoon.

Wet n Wild offers fly fishing trips (bonefish are the fisherman’s dream here) and snorkelling trips around the huge lagoon. I snorkelled over great beds of giant clams, all iridescent blue and green as they filter fed on the sandy lagoon bottom, explored a rope festooned with hanging black pearl oysters strung between coral bommies, had a quick walk around a motu famous for its ‘honeymoon money’ photo opportunities and its preserve as a refuge for red-tailed tropicbirds and other wandering sea birds. The urge to continually jump overboard into the swimming pool like lagoon is irresistible. See www.wetnwild-aitutaki.com

Tom Neal Tacker visited the Cook Islands as a guest of Cook Islands Tourism.

Naked Facts:

Naked Sleeps:

Rarotonga:

The Sunset Resort in Nikao, approximately three kilometres west of Rarotonga’s airport is a well run adults only boutique resort situated on a western facing beach. Two swimming pools delineate two areas of the same resort. The pool nearest the beach is closest to the best rooms. The other pool, despite being larger and slightly more inviting is surrounded by two two-story buildings that are nearer the lobby and reception area. The hotel carpark is also very close to one of these two buildings, the one I stayed in unfortunately. The rooms in the far side of this building are very badly positioned, being uncomfortably close to the island’s main road. I was assigned one of those rooms. Traffic noise was fairly constant, even in relatively sleepy Rarotonga.  www.thesunsetresort.com

Over in Muri, on Rarotonga’s southeast facing coast is the Pacific Resort Rarotonga. One of the country’s best resorts, rooms either front a stunning beach or tropical garden area with fish ponds and a swimming pool. Most rooms are decorated in typical Polynesian style with bright colours, boast separate sleeping and living areas and newly renovated granite bathrooms. The hotel’s bar and restaurant are both deservedly popular. www.pacificresort.com

My wish list accommodation choice on Rarotonga is the Little Polynesian Resort & Spa. With fewer than twenty rooms, all facing the island’s best beach at Titikaveka, this is the pick of the abundant crop. While Muri beach is lined with small resorts, Titikaveka is mostly undeveloped. I hope it stays that way. www.littlepolynesian.com

Aitutaki:

The Aitutaki Lagoon Resort occupies its own tiny island just a short ferry ride across a clear running tidal channel separating Akitua from Aitutaki. Beach front bures are the top choice here, though three overwater bungalows are perennial favourites. The little villas all have outside showers and inside bathrooms. Private decks are attached to each villa, perfect for dropping into a beach lounge chair for a spot of navel contemplation. Dinner is fairly ordinary but the breakfast buffet was better than most I prospected in the Cook Islands. www.aitutakilagoonresort.com

On Aitutaki’s western side is the very de luxe Pacific Resort Aitutaki (part of the same group that owns the Pacific Resort Rarotonga). The island’s best resort, the most expensive certainly, here the cooking is well above average in a country where too much food preparation is caught somewhere between 80s New Zealand Leagues Club inspiration and London Missionary Society reality. The infinity pool at this resort is one of the most photographed scenes in all the Cook Islands. The beach here, though superb by any concept of reality, is not as fine as the beach at the Aitutaki Lagoon Resort, advantage of occupying your own heavenly island off an island paradise perhaps? Were the Aitutaki Lagoon Resort beach transferred to the Pacific Resort Aitutaki’s superior facilities and style, we’d have a perfect winner. www.pacificresort.com

Naked Eats:

If the Cook Islands can claim a national dish, it’s probably ika mata, raw fish marinated in coconut milk, lime juice and mixed with chopped onions and/or tomatoes and if you're lucky a bit of chopped coriander. Tahitians, Samoans and Hawaiians prepare raw fish pretty much the same way. The Peruvians do it better and call it ceviche. In Mexico it’s served with more lime, coriander and a bit of chilli and is better still.

When the Cook Islands were occupied in the early 19^th century by the London Missionary Society and Catholic church missionaries, local people coincidentally developed a fondness for tinned meats, tinned fruits and bland cooking. Much of that tradition continues today. New Zealanders are the Cook Islands most frequent visitors. Indeed, the Cook Islands are to Kiwis what Florida and Hawaii are to Americans and what Fiji is to Australians. For many Kiwis, their first overseas trip is to the Cook Islands. The influence middle-class Kiwis have had on contemporary Cook Islands cuisine is still a work in progress and appears to have been bogged down in 1980s low-brow cooking. I’ve had many truly excellent meals in New Zealand where innovative chefs winningly marry local produce with the country’s stunning wines. That innovation hasn’t yet fully reached the Cook Islands. This is my first impression. I heard there are several good restaurants on Rarotonga and Aitutaki but I didn’t dine at them.

Unfortunately when I met Minar Purotu Henderson at her Island Living shop, it wasn’t a Wednesday and we weren’t on Rarotonga long enough to dine at her Plantation House. I read the menu at the Little Polynesian Resort & Spa and found it exciting and enticing but again, didn’t have time to dine there.

At The Moorings Cafe on Rarotonga, I ate a very good spicy fish sandwich and drank a fresh coconut juice (‘Nu’ juice in the Cook Islands). I’d like to go there again.

The umukai I shared during the Aitutaki Punarei Cultural Tour was really good because it was authentic, the ingredients were top quality and the freshness was outstanding. [caption id="attachment_2465" align="alignnone" width="336"] Red bananas in Punarei's garden on Aitutaki[/caption]

Samade On The Beach across the channel from Aitutaki Lagoon Resort & Spa is a lovely cafe/restaurant in a stunning location overlooking the lagoon right at the tip of the Ootu Peninsula. Recently acquired by an ex-Pacific Resorts GM, this place is set for great improvements. The small snack I ate of ika mata, fried calamari and plantain chips was very good and shows promise for better things to come. www.samadebeach.com

Also on Aitutaki is Tupuna’s Restaurant, highly recommended by trusted associates. The chilli crab cooked here has a strong following. Tupuna’s is open Mon-Sat from 6p and can be contacted via email: tupunarestaurant@aitutaki.net.ck or local telephone: 31 678.

The Cook Islands produce is essentially organic. Farms are small and clearly the soil is very fertile. The use of pesticides and fertilisers is almost unknown. The incredible freshness and flavour inherent in the produce is obvious. It’s a pity so many cooks don’t show innate respect for their ingredients or they’re stuck in a time warp of 80s Kiwi cooking when mayonnaise came out of large jars and curry powder was considered truly exotic.  

Here’s hoping to a successfully evolving Cook Islands food culture driven by passionate and informed cooks.

Naked Routes:

Air New Zealand offers the best connections to Rarotonga. Daily flights operate between Auckland and Rarotonga providing easy one-stop connections with all Australian capital cities and all other New Zealand cities with Air New Zealand domestic services. A once weekly service connects Rarotonga to Sydney non-stop each Saturday. A once weekly non-stop service also connects Rarotonga to Los Angeles. Why Air New Zealand doesn’t do a better job promoting the LAX-Rarotonga-Sydney connection is one of those airline quandaries that puzzle me unceasingly. Imagine the holiday opportunities with that route. www.airnewzealand.co.nz

Virgin Pacific flies regularly between Australia and Rarotonga. www.virginaustralia.com

Air Tahiti operates a once weekly service between Papeete and Rarotonga as a code share arrangement with Air Rarotonga. www.airraro.com

A number of charter services connect all other Cook Islands that have an airstrip. It’s fairly easy, though relatively expensive, to get to Atiu, Mauke and Mangaia in the southern group. Penrhyn’s airstrip is over 1,300 kilometres north of Rarotonga. Charter flights to the northern group of islands that have an airstrip are hellishly expensive. Now that’s a ‘bucket list’ goal to bear in mind.

Naked Reads:

‘My Island Home’ by Helen Henry an ex-Kiwi and island resident, widowed  to the nation’s first prime minister’s son. Her story is a fascinating one.

‘The Book of PukaPuka’ and ‘Island of Desire’ by American travel writer Robert Dean Frisbie who came to PukaPuka in 1924, married a local woman and stayed to open a general store.

Finally I'd like to say a big 'Kia Orana' to all my Cook Islands friends!

Newgrange is one of Europe’s most interesting Stone Age passage tombs. A number of tomb mounds mark the surrounding landscape but Newgrange is the largest and most studied.  By all means stop for at least an hour at the excellent visitor centre (there’s a decent cafe here too) and read all there is about ancient Ireland in preparation for exploring Newgrange itself. The tumulus’ (mound) history is entirely fascinating after greater understanding of its origin, purpose and importance to early inhabitants is clearly understood.

Over each winter solstice, dawn sunlight pierces into the long tunnel directly to the burial chamber itself, illuminating both the symbolic importance of the site’s position and the construction’s wonderfully precise alignment with the sunrise in conjunction with the shortest day of the year.

A national lottery is conducted annually which allows a lucky twenty or so visitors access to the tumulus for three days: preceding the solstice, the solstice and the day after, each dawn (if weather permits) opening the tumulus’ greater purpose to the lottery winners. The inner burial chamber is quite small. I’m crowded into it with fewer than fifteen other visitors while we take turns exploring the graves’ positions, wall carvings and the impressive architectural design. The inner chamber is completely dry by the way. No water has ever leaked into the inner chamber, not bad for a roof built over 5,000 years ago by craftsmen using rudimentary tools, even more impressive considering Ireland’s wet weather and harsh climate.

From Newgrange I head further north to Carlingford to dine at the Ghan House hotel’s fine restaurant, sampling some of Ireland’s better country cooking at a heritage hotel in this lovely out-of-the-way town on the border. The dining room is comfortably grand, 19^th century furnishings, lots of candles, warm service and a dinner far better than I’m used to eating in rural Ireland.

Carlingford isn’t big enough in which to get lost but a derelict castle in prime position overlooking the loch evokes feelings of times lost to history. Signage at this castle is scant, much of it is barred from exploration and local residents have used it as something of a trysting place, condom wrappers tossed into stony corners indicating that a lonely castle conveniently located close to the town centre also has advantages other than links to historical roots.   

From Carlingford I head towards County Monaghan, aiming for Hilton Park, a grand estate where I’m booked to spend a night. The GPS provided by the hire car company is absolutely useless. New roads haven’t been programmed into its system and the border area’s previous political tensions have caused some roads to be purposely left unmarked. I’ve been lost for two hours while searching for Hilton Park. Driven almost mad with frustration at the lack of signage, equipped with a GPS programmed with Irish roads that don’t appear to exist, all the while I’m thinking that if I continue to turn left, an entire circuit of the island nation will be complete, finally reaching my start point. Thoughts of returning to Carlingford's lovely countryside pop into mind. Should I abandon ship, ditch the car and get a bus back to Carlingford? Not willing to admit defeat so early in the trip, I head for Clones again, doubling back the way I just came. [caption id="attachment_1590" align="alignnone" width="337"] Carlingford, County Louth on the way to 'The North'.[/caption] The local postmaster in Clones described the way to Hilton Park an hour earlier. 'You can’t miss it,' he says. 'Well, you could miss it but if you’ve gone past the golf course, you have,' he adds laconically. I return to the car, point it to the road I’ve driven down twice before and decide to try again. I turn haphazardly into a driveway marked by a sign half hidden by dense holly. The lettering has faded into total obscurity. I chance it anyway. The postmaster told me it wasn’t easy to spot, despite having twice gone as far as the golf course he instructed me not to go past. I’m ready for anything now. Five kilometres along a winding unsealed driveway, I come face to face with a drop dead gorgeous Georgian mansion, a Eureka moment. [caption id="attachment_2220" align="alignnone" width="259"] First view of Hilton Park.[/caption] While I park the car, already feeling agog with the grandeur of the place, a young man dressed like a county squire strides across the gravel drive that fronts his family home, Hilton Park. Extending his hand in greeting, he says, 'I’m Fred Madden. You must be Tom. So, you’ve found us. It mustn’t have been easy. How was your trip?' I’ve been driving in and out of Ulster, commonly referred to as ‘The North’ since my late morning departure from Carlingford in County Louth, part of the Republic, commonly referred to as ‘The South’, wandering blithely around County Monaghan and now I’m right up against the border again. Ulster’s County Fermanagh is only a few miles away. Road maps are next to useless in much of this apparently unmarked country. From one minute to the next, I’m never sure if I’m in Ulster, ‘The North’ or in the Republic, ‘The South’. The northern corner of county Monaghan has been off the radar for decades, deemed by most travellers as being too close to ‘The Troubles’, therefore potentially unsafe. The lack of visitors is a common complaint I hear often during my days in off-the-beaten track Ireland. I also visit County Leitrim and County Westmeath, two other counties virtually ignored by the majority of travellers. I’ve been led to believe that here is where the ‘real old Ireland’ still exists. Hilton Park has been in Madden’s family since it was built in 1734. Since ‘The Troubles’ finished, business in County Monaghan has increased. Hilton Park has reached the 21st century in a relatively healthy position. [caption id="attachment_2221" align="alignnone" width="275"] My bedroom at Hilton Park.[/caption] Madden’s mother Lucy writes historical essays for the local newspapers and is something of an expert on all things Hilton Park and the nearby town of Clones. Over breakfast she shares her enthusiasm. 'Tyrone Guthrie, the famous critic and theatrical impresario was born just near here. Oscar Wilde’s two half sisters lived near here too.' Placing a pot of her homemade jam in front of me she continues her summary, 'Clones is a wonderful town. You know the director, Neil Jordan of ‘The Crying Game’ among other films? He comes to stay here regularly, calls Clones his microcosm of the world. If it doesn’t work in Clones, it won’t work anywhere else, he says.' Lucy Madden is a raconteur of distinction, a wonderful example of Irish charm and bonhomie. No wonder Jordan enjoys his stays at Hilton Park. Fred Madden shows me around the 600 acre estate. The park and gardens are like a film set. I understand Jordan’s high regard for the place. Expecting to see ladies wearing bonnets and bustles emerge from behind shrubbery at any moment, gossiping dialogue from a Thackeray novel or reciting lines from one of Wilde’s plays, I wonder how this hidden gem has escaped attention for so long, despite ‘The Troubles’. Though my stay at Hilton Park is brief, it is memorable. [caption id="attachment_2205" align="alignnone" width="336"] A small section of Hilton Park's immense gardens.[/caption] Ireland is internationally famous for its literary giants, Yeats, Beckett, Wilde to name just a few. Though famous in Ireland, Patrick Kavanagh’s work is less known though the study of his works is compulsory in Irish schools. 'But I’ve not heard of him before this week,' I explain to Rosaleen Kearney, manager of the Patrick Kavanagh Centre in Iniskeen, County Monaghan. 'You’re not alone Tom,' she says, 'Patrick Kavanagh is not well known outside Ireland, which is a pity as his poetry is as important to us as Yeats.' With volunteer guide Art Agnew and Kearney, I explore the Kavanagh Trail, a route marked as a self-guided tour funded by the local tourism authority. [caption id="attachment_2203" align="alignnone" width="336"] Rosaleen Kearney and Art Agnew at Kavanagh's grave.[/caption] Kearney and Agnew take turns reciting Kavanagh’s lyrical poetry in their softly burring local accents while we visit Kavanagh’s birthplace, the school he attended, the barn where he waltzed at local dances and finally his grave. 'The Monaghan hills are hard country and folk here have always been poor,' Agnew admits sadly. I imagine the land has changed little since Kavanagh was born in Mucker, a collection of houses just a few kilometres from Iniskeen village. Eldest son of a cobbler and farmer of nine acres, Patrick Kavanagh left school aged thirteen to become a cobbler and farmer like his father. What set him apart was his writing, which he did by candlelight in an upstairs room away from the chaos in the family kitchen. In Kavanagh’s own words from his poem simply entitled ‘Monaghan Hills’, 'Monaghan hills, You have made me the sort of man I am, A fellow who can never care a damn For Everestic thrills' Rough country around Iniskeen and Mucker makes or breaks farmers, more often breaking them. [caption id="attachment_2202" align="alignnone" width="362"] Kavanagh's grave.[/caption] From County Monaghan I venture into County Leitrim, another part of Ireland well off the beaten track. This region suffered massive depopulation during the potato famine and the Great Depression of the 1920s. It’s now one of Ireland’s most sparsely populated counties. Wildlife is making a comeback here, fields have been left fallow for decades and birdlife has returned in large numbers. Leitrim Landscapes Guided Walks owner Nuala McNulty covers the county from an environmental perspective. She knows more about the hidden eco-tourism wonders of this region better than anyone. I’ve been walking with her for two hours while the fickle weather takes a turn for the worse. Driving rain prevents us from climbing a nearby hill for its western views over County Sligo to the Atlantic Ocean. Instead we follow a flooded river down a steep valley, past a waterfall, slipping and sliding on smooth stones, exchanging stories about curious characters we’ve met here and elsewhere on our individual travels. McNulty is quick as a whip with an infectious laugh. Just off the path is a tiny shrine devoted to a holy spring, which I’ve overlooked as it’s invisible behind thick shrubbery. McNulty tells me, 'Springs like this one are scattered about the county and were holy even before St Patrick came along to convert us heathens', she explains, dipping her hands into the running water. The open sided shrine is large enough to shelter a small child, no more. [caption id="attachment_2201" align="alignnone" width="336"] Rob and Nuala at sacred spring in North Leitrim.[/caption] From McNulty I learn that Leitrim is a county even the Irish seemed to have forgotten. She adds, 'No one wanted to live here for ages. Not so now. It’s become something of a new age centre with folk who care about the environment, a good place to live now, not mad like Dublin. People are friendly here.' Though I didn’t find Dubliners unfriendly, the attitudinal difference between people here and those in Dublin is noticeable, the capital is frantically busy in comparison to Leitrim’s peaceful calm. I spend a lovely night in Roscommon at Mary Gleeson's Townhouse, the town's best hostelry conveniently located right in the town's centre. Mary and her husband Eammon run an authentic Irish guesthouse. Comfort and hospitality are king while the small hotel's restaurant does a booming trade with locals and visitors alike. [caption id="attachment_2210" align="alignnone" width="259"] Mary Gleesons Townhouse in Roscommon.[/caption] Hospitality like this is rare. Mary tells me, 'You won't be spending an evening on your own will you? Come join us. We're going to a play, 'The Quare Land'. The actors are staying with us. I'm sure you'll like it.' The play is funny and timely, all about Ireland's recent history of land speculation gone mad. We head to the local pub for refreshment afterwards. Eammon insists I sample a broad range of Irish whisky. I can't say no. [caption id="attachment_2211" align="alignnone" width="201"] Mary Gleeson with a serving of Irish stew.[/caption] The following day I meet artist Helen Conneely at the Celtic Roots Studio in Ballinahown, County Westmeath. Within ten minutes Conneely has me hard at work in her studio, sandpaper in hand polishing a piece of oak bog wood approximately 5,000 years old. From trekking through sodden forests one day to manual labour in a hot workshop the next, this Irish trip has become seriously disjointed. I drank an excess of Irish whiskey the night before arriving late (yet again because I’m lost) at the Celtic Roots Studio and I suspect Conneely has little sympathy for my aching head. 'You’re doing okay with that piece, just rub it a bit harder with this paper and I’ll get some olive oil for you to finish it with,' she says. 'Oh, that looks nice,' she comments, 'Don’t give up your day job though.' [caption id="attachment_2212" align="alignnone" width="276"] Celtic Roots Studio exterior.[/caption] Bog wood is akin to Irish gold. Petrified forests of oak, yew and Scot’s pine sourced underneath ancient blanket bogs are among Ireland’s most important geological treasures. Little authentic bog land still exists. Much of it has for centuries been mined for peat. Conneely explains that, 'Irish craftwork and jewellery are making a comeback due to bog wood. I’ve been working with it for years, as you can see,' she shows me a few of her artfully crafted pieces ranging from necklaces and earrings to lamps and objets d’art, 'and it’s grand to see a part of our heritage come to life again.' In no small part due to her efforts I believe. [caption id="attachment_2213" align="alignnone" width="275"] Helen Conneely of Celtic Roots Studio.[/caption] I make a side trip to Mossfield Organic farm to meet its owners Ralph and Lorraine Haslam, makers of Ireland's finest hard cheese. Ralph invites me on a tour of his highland property, located almost exactly in the geographical heart of Ireland in West Offaly County approximately ten kilometres from Birr. We meet in Birr before so I can follow Ralph to Mossfield farm. Without Ralph's help I never would have found his farm. After over a week in rural Ireland, I've learnt the hard way to rely on local guidance. [caption id="attachment_2208" align="alignnone" width="345"] Ralph Haslam with a few of his prized cows.[/caption] Mossfield cheese is superb. As Ralph explains, 'It's all about the milk and happy cows.' We sample from a number of aged rounds, picking one out of five as the best of a lot. 'You've helped me choose the cheese that's being served for a state banquet during Queen Elizabeth's upcoming visit. I hope she likes it, if not I'm blaming you.' We have a laugh and eat some more delicious cheese. Ralph gives me a few delicately wrapped chunks to take away, typical Irish hospitality. At the farm gate he instructs, 'Turn right at the crossing, go to the next village, turn left and you'll be at the main road. The way to Cashel is marked there.' I never find that main road and it doesn't exist on the GPS either but I do enjoy munching on the cheese when I pull the car over to a wayside to check my useless map once again. [caption id="attachment_2209" align="alignnone" width="274"] Some of Mossfield's prize cheeses.[/caption] My off-beat journey reveals much about the Irish, some of it stereotypical. Is there another European country populated by such colloquial and amiable citizens as Ireland? It’s a country of surprises too. The conflict in the North has taken its emotional and physical toll on many, dour dispositions alternate with ironic humour for good reason, life has been tough here for a very long time. Patrick Kavanagh should have a final say on this peculiarly Irish contrast of moods, from ‘Stony Grey Soil’: ‘O stony grey soil of Monaghan, The laugh from my love you thieved; You took the gay child of my passion And gave me your clod-conceived’ Tom Neal Tacker travelled courtesy of Thai Airways, Aer Lingus and Failte Ireland, the National Tourism Development Authority. Naked Facts: Naked Routes: Thai Airways flies to Europe via Bangkok from most Australian mainland cities. See www.thaiairways.com for details and bookings. Aer Lingus has a comprehensive network connecting Dublin, Cork and Shannon airports to many European and North American cities linked to Thai Airways’ network. See www.aerlingus.com for details and bookings. Naked Sleeps: Ghan House hotel in picturesque Carlingford, County Louth, is a real gem. Great food in a graciously restored 19th century boutique hotel makes tiny Carlingford a real gourmet's destination. For more information and seasonal special deals, see www.ghanhouse.com Hilton Park Luxury House offers antique filled, fabulously decorated historic rooms and excellent cuisine prepared using local ingredients, much of the food from the estate’s garden. See www.hiltonpark.ie for details and bookings. Ard Nahoo in Mullagh, Dromahair County Leitrim is an eco-retreat offering massage therapy and yoga classes in a rustic location with well appointed fully self-contained cottages. See www.ardnahoo.com for details and bookings. Mary Gleesons Townhouse is right in Roscommon's bustling centre. There may be more elegant (and expensive) lodgings in rural Ireland, but few are as warmly inviting as this: www.gleesonstownhouse.com In Dublin, Number 31 Leeson Close is top notch for service, location and accommodation in a Georgian era townhouse. 31 Leeson Close has won awards for best breakfasts in Ireland and is highly recommended. See www.number31.ie for details and bookings. Naked Tips: Newgrange is one of Ireland's most important archaeological sites. Unmissable. www.newgrange.com Kavanagh Country: www.patrickkavanaghcountry.com Leitrim Landscapes Guided Walks: www.tawnylustlodge.com Celtic Roots Studio: www.celticroots.ie Mossfield Organic Farm near Birr in West Offaly County may be visited by prior arrangement: www.mossfield.ie Irish Tourism inquiries and advice: www.discoverireland.com

Thai Airways has a convenient one-stop connection from North American, European and Australian capital cities to Kathmandu via its hub in Bangkok. See www.thaiairways.com for reservations and flight schedules. Transfers to Chitwan National Park’s airstrip at Meghauli with Yeti Airlines and into the park via a river crossing and a short 4-WD journey can be booked through Tiger Tops. Naked Sleeps: For Tiger Tops’ information and reservations:

www.tigertops.com

www.dwarikas.com

Money is made in the big cities nowadays, Boston, Hartford, Providence and New York. Banking, stock markets, insurance and financial services lead to big incomes. Where do local rich people play if they don’t want to venture far from home?

The Hamptons at Long Island’s end and Newport at Rhode Island’s bottom come to mind when thinking of ubiquitous wealth and ostentatious spending. Both places attract old money and new money in apparently equal measures.  The islands off Massachusetts are also well known as an American moneyed set’s playground.

Hyannis on the mainland is the gateway port for Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. The Kennedy family compound is at Hyannis overlooking Nantucket Sound, a yachtsman’s paradise of shallow clean water with safe anchorages on the islands’ northern shores and all along the mainland.

If the world was perfect it would be a lot like Martha’s Vineyard. The world isn’t perfect so little spots like Martha’s Vineyard perform stand-in roles in global theatre’s constantly travelling play, ‘The Search for Perfection’.

I was seduced by Martha’s Vineyard right from my first impression. Its tourism officials are some of the friendliest people I’ve dealt with on a professional basis. What swept me off my feet was the frank honesty about their little island. Amidst all that wealth, the people employed to spruik the island’s attractions showed genuine humility delightfully paired with frank humour. Expecting a wade through a bath of bullshit, I was surprised instead by undressed honesty. PR spin was reeled out at a bare minimum, if at all.

What separates prosperous Hamptons and Newport from Martha’s Vineyard is the difference between blatant show and not much substance and discreet show with a lot of substance. Inconspicuous wealth is the key to Martha’s Vineyard’s charm.

And the fact that much of that money has gone into protecting the island’s environment.

Edgartown is the island’s big town. It ranks as one of the prettiest villages in all the USA. Across the narrow channel from the town harbour is tiny Chappaquiddick, an island off an island but considered part of Edgartown.

The island’s main library is in Edgartown as is the town hall and administrative offices. Lots of tiny shops, cafes and a few restaurants complete the tidy tourist picture. A photogenic lighthouse juts up from the sand dune off Edgartown’s harbour front, signalling the passage between Chappaquiddick and central Edgartown.

During a mid-spring visit, I got the impression that many of Edgartown’s houses are essentially summer homes for holidaying semi-permanent residents. The average cost for a moderate house in Edgartown is over USD$ 1 million.

Outside the busy summer season, the island’s other town of consequence, Vineyard Haven/Oak Bluffs is where the majority of the island’s permanent residents hang out and live. Vineyard Haven is the island’s ferry port to the mainland, crowded with maritime businesses compared to Edgartown’s leisurely yachting sidelines. While Edgartown seemed to be in a napping state before summer’s onslaught of visitors, little Vineyard Haven thrummed with life.

I’ve noticed a queer fact about human living patterns; no matter how small the living area is people will separate themselves into sections. Martha’s Vineyard, approximately 30 kilometres long by 15 kilometres wide is divided into Up Island and Down Island. Up Island is west of Vineyard Haven/Oak Bluffs, consisting of hamlets like North Tisbury, West Tisbury, Aquinnah, Chilmark and Menemsha. Up Island officially ends at Gay Head, a series of bluffs facing into the North Atlantic Ocean. I hear the local council has a challenging time maintaining its Gay Head signs, theft is common and vandals make the most of Gay Head’s punning opportunities.

Down Island are Edgartown and Chappaquiddick. Considering that only about 16,000 people call ‘The Vineyard’ home all year round, I was surprised the community has split itself pretty much right down the middle. Up Islanders tend to be permanent residents. Down Islanders tend to be semi-permanent.

To make geographical matters even more complicated, a fierce rivalry exists between ‘The Vineyard’ and nearby neighbour, Nantucket Island. ‘Martha’s Vineyard has hills. Nantucket is flat.’ ‘The Vineyard is open to visitors, Nantucket isn’t.’ After a couple days I just had to accept a majority opinion, ‘Nantucket is weird.’

I look forward to visiting Nantucket to find out for myself.

Martha’s Vineyard is a popular place. Keep this fact in perspective: during summer’s peak season June, July and August, the island’s population swells to over 100,000 people, almost ten times the average population. That almost everyone manages to maintain a friendly outlook during the summer rush of visitors is testament to the island’s innate attraction. It’s as if everyone has decided to adopt a democratically positive attitude. Why be bothered to sulk in such a peaceful environment?

US Presidents holiday at Martha’s Vineyard; it’s that private. Obama and his family rented a secluded house Up Island early during his presidency. Bill and Hillary Clinton sailed off its shores during several executive office breaks. Of course members of the Kennedy clan have been making regular visits since the 40s. Some of those visits became notorious. Remember Ted Kennedy’s car accident in 1969?  He drove off a bridge on Chappaquiddick; survived the crash but his secretary Mary Jo Kopechne didn’t. She drowned in the back seat. Kennedy reported the accident to local police some hours later. He had found time to dry his clothes but his hopes for a successful run at the presidency were dashed forever.

Steven Spielberg took a liking to the island and used it as the setting for his ground-breaking film ‘Jaws’. A number of local kids appeared in it. A local company operates random ‘Jaws’ tours of the island by appointment. One of the kids who appeared as a film extra apparently works as a guide.

What to do on Martha’s Vineyard? Officially speaking there are no major tourist attractions. A great part of the island’s charm is that no chain restaurants, theme parks, retail conglomerates or very important significant historic sites exist. Is it the perfect contemporary mass marketing vacuum? Thankfully yes.

For me it’s one of those rare places where I didn’t feel compelled to do anything other than to wander blithely experiencing one kismet moment after another: a spectacular sunset on the sandy road between Oak Bluffs and Edgartown looking towards Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary. Chatting with a shopkeeper at Menemsha’s little port, him boasting that he made the island’s best clam chowder. Large empty cans of watery potatoes in his small kitchen had me wondering at his comical bluster. “Why don’t you use fresh potatoes?” I asked. “People seem to like it this way. You want some or not?” I left smiling but didn’t try the canned chowder.

Meeting a 60 something couple walking their dog at Lambert Cove beach, one of the island’s prettiest. We were the only people there. She works as an itinerant housecleaner in luxurious summer homes rented by rich visitors. Her retired partner spends most of the year on the mainland near Barnstable doing odd jobs but “loves” the Vineyard. He returns to the island to see her and get away from mainland life’s trials and tribulations. They were so much in love it was a glad day just to walk with them along the beach while they told me all about living on the “most beautiful island in the whole northeast”. I learnt much from them about the social divides between wealthy residents and those less fortunate, a largely live and let live co-existence. Another moment was richly felt while exploring the excellent Vineyard Haven Bookshop and Art Gallery with its lovely collection of works by local artists and a fine selection of thoughtfully chosen books. Yet another was spent chatting with a librarian at Edgartown’s esteemed and well-used town library. Asking him about the original inhabitants, the Wampanoag tribe, I was invited into his office for a long informative chat about the tribe’s long fought battle to secure a permanent landholding at Aquinnah. Other fine moments were spent briefly stopping my rental vehicle three separate times so families of Canadian geese could cross safely, goslings waddling behind parents as fast as their little legs could carry them. Passersby waved at me as did fellow drivers, cheering goose commuters onwards? Finally, after a long day spent collecting snippets of island life far-reaching insight was captured while standing alone at Gay Head looking out over the vastness of the North Atlantic imagining how little the island had changed in 10,000 years. That’s my short list of serendipitous moments during a day of wonder on the perfect island.

Had I another spare day I would have hired a bicycle and made use of the island’s extensive bike trails.

Dreaming of that possibility had I another spare day in addition to the cycling day, I would have made better use of the island’s extensive walking trails.

A subsequent spare day would have been spent sitting on the veranda of my hotel reading a book, perhaps ‘Caleb’s Crossing’ by resident author and ex-pat Australian Geraldine Brooks.

Fantasising about days spent idling on a perfect island is a contagious mindset.

Martha’s Vineyard conjures scenes of director Peter Weir’s 1998 film ‘The Truman Show’ with Jim Carrey, Laura Linney and Ed Harris. It’s the sort of place that engenders comparisons with impossibly perfect places. Fairly or unfairly, the small island cops criticism for being elitist and separatist. I don’t agree. For me, ‘The Vineyard’ is a microcosm of American current reality. Dig deep enough and financial stress coupled with economic troubles is uncovered easily enough even on this speck of overriding affluence. But that’s not what this holiday island is all about. Largely it’s a dream made real where the living is relatively easy and ostentatious wealth is frowned upon by the wealthy and middle class alike. 

Since 2008, much social media discussion has revolved around how America has changed from a land of opportunity for everyone to a land of opportunity for the already rich. Statistics bear out the truth of this accusation as increased wealth rests in fewer select hands while the poor struggle to hold on to a diminishing portion of the gross national fortune.

Martha’s Vineyard is one of those rare places in the USA where it’s possible to witness how great wealth held closely in the hands of the few is clearly juxtaposed with moderate means in the hands of many. They co-habit with a visible degree of equanimity, each possessed of their inalienable right to a good life whatever its price.

Is this an island ethos driven by an absence of envy?

Probably not, but nowhere is perfect.

Tom Neal Tacker travelled courtesy of Qantas Airways and Massachusetts Tourism Authority.

Naked Routes:

Getting to Martha’s Vineyard is easy. During high season daily ferries run between Hyannis, Falmouth and Fairhaven, Massachusetts’ ports only a few hours sailing time to Vineyard Haven. I flew as a guest of Massachusetts Tourism authority on Cape Air from Boston and from the island to Hyannis. The two hops in 10 seater twin-prop Cessna aircraft were geographical revelations. The flight path takes in Boston Bay, the Upper Cape and Nantucket Sound. On a clear day, it’s a wonderful trip. See www.capeair.com for information and bookings.

Naked Sleeps:

Martha’s Vineyard tourism hosts looked after me splendidly. I was lodged for two nights in one of the island’s best hostelries, The Harbor View hotel in Edgartown. Overlooking Edgartown’s picturesque harbour and lighthouse with Chappaquiddick’s beach lights twinkling in the near distance at night, it’s a terrific hotel comprising one grandly renovated building with a huge sea-front veranda and several converted out buildings, formerly private residences from the days when Edgartown made its money from whaling and fishing, all set in manicured gardens lending an added atmosphere of space and exclusivity. Local birds loved the gardens too. My suite on the upper level in one of the old refurbished sea captain’s houses was faultless: full king sized bed made up with luxurious linens in an enormous bedroom with an open fireplace, separate dressing room, bathroom big enough for a whale with huge tub and separate shower, sitting room with another open fireplace, leather lounges, large table and armchairs made it seem like a home instead of a hotel. Two wide screen televisions, a good music system and free wi-fi brought me back to modern reality. It was absolutely private and very quiet. The hotel’s free private off-street parking away from Edgartown’s narrow streets was also a bonus. Service was kind, friendly and absolutely genuine. Breakfasts are cooked to order and served by gracious and friendly waiters in a cheerily sunny conservatory in the main building. Thank goodness, it’s a no buffet zone. Steam baths filled with gluggy scrambled eggs, soggy bacon and old toast aren’t in keeping with the Harbor View style. Freshly squeezed juices were complimented by an espresso machine that employees knew how to operate. In the land that coffee has essentially forgot, this was also a real bonus. Sunset cocktails in the lobby bar were the icing on a grand accommodation cake. It’s pricey but well worth the spend.

See www.harbor-view.com for reservations and information. Prices are from USD$476 per night.

Naked Eats:

New England’s coastal communities are justifiably famous for seafood and fish, particularly now that fisheries are managed more sustainably. Clam chowder is basically the state of Massachusetts official dish, despite Boston beans alternative claim to the local culinary crown. Lobster is widely available at a price. Sadly, it’s a crustacean that is poorly understood by many local chefs who continue to overcook it to a rubbery death. Maybe ask to have it served rare? Same rule applies to scallops and clams. Don’t overcook either. Local oysters are also a revered delicacy. At least they weren’t cooked.

Martha’s Vineyard’s local clientele is fairly savvy. What else would one expect in such educated surrounds? I ate well from simple menus (in off season) at The Offshore Alehouse in Oak Bluffs (30 Kennebec Ave Tel: +1 508 693 2626) and the Martha’s Vineyard Chowder House Company (9 Oak Bluffs Ave Tel: +1 508 696 3000) also in Oak Bluffs, both unstuffy restaurants with loyal local followers. These were not really tourist restaurants as they stay open out of season to cater for the island’s permanent inhabitants. They both sport popular bars with bartenders who know how to make a cocktail with a generous pour.

Many of The Vineyard’s restaurants fine diners are open only during high season from May through to October.

Check out the West Tisbury Farmer’s Market on Wednesdays and Saturdays (Tel: +1 508 693 9561), the Mermaid Farm in Chilmark (Tel: +1 508 645 3492), the Fiddlehead Farmstand in Vineyard Haven (Tel: +1 508 696 6700) and Eden Market & Garden Center also in Vineyard Haven (Tel: +1 508 693 5202) for the best of the island’s farm produce including raw milk products, local stone fruits picked fresh during summer and locally made jams, mustards and honey. Menemsha has a fisherman’s co-op store selling fish and seafood fresh off the boats, open most days even in off season.

See www.mvy.com or www.massvacation.com for more information about accommodation, island-mainland transport options, seasonal activities and local festivals and events.

Breaking the journey with a stay in Galle at the exquisite Galle Fort Hotel, hanging round the hotel pool interspersed with relaxing walks within the old city’s walled centre or visiting nearby beaches, the impact of tourism is never far away. Southern Sri Lanka is the favoured winter respite for many visiting European tourists. Galle has mostly resisted being turned into a beach destination but beachside towns between Colombo and Galle have thoroughly embraced tourism. Large hotels continue to sprout up like mushrooms in compost while not all developments are built in best taste.

East of Galle, development is less rampant as a few beach towns between Galle and the Yala National Park’s western border haven’t all been swamped by tourism money making schemes.

We find some respite and crowd relief in tiny Talalla while staying in a pseudo-holistic beach resort. I say pseudo because the whole area is holistic. The beach is entirely devoid of large-scale development, a relief to ears and eyes. An evening walk in nearby Gandara provides a gift; a glimpse into Sri Lanka before war and political corruption wrecked a lot of lives. Even the 2004 tsunami’s after effects seem less dire here.

Beach combing attractions aside, Sri Lanka’s interior is historically, ecologically and culturally more interesting. We stop for a day at Pinnawalla elephant orphanage, checking out its reputation for admirable elephant care. Though it’s something of a tourist show, particularly when some of the orphanage’s elephants walk to the river for a daily bath, the whole place has an atmosphere of openness. Elephants roam freely among visitors though a couple of mature males in musth are chained to posts and visitors are warned away. Greater emphasis on education about these endangered animals would be beneficial but as an orphanage accessible to the general public, it’s not a bad place in which to begin an understanding of Asian elephants and their plight for safe habitats in overcrowded countries.

Kandy is a requisite stop. Sri Lanka’s holy city is the entry point to the central highlands and key to understanding the importance of Buddhism to the national identity. The Sri Dalada Magiwala (Sacred Tooth Temple) is the country’s most important religious shrine, an obligatory pilgrimage stop for any visit to Sri Lanka. Kandy is also the country’s cultural centre. Music and dance performances abound, some aimed at tourists, more at local celebrants. The central Kandy market is one of the country’s best. As the commercial focus for this small city’s permanent population, it’s the town's heart and the most important nexus in which to gauge how Kandy town differs greatly from Colombo city.

Tea plantations cover much of Sri Lanka’s interior. The town of Nuwara Eliya (meaning ‘City of Light’ or ‘City of the Plain’) is near the ecologically significant Horton Plains National Park and is more or less tea central. Great paddocks of tea plants (camellia sinensis) surround the whole area. The Victoria Park in the centre of town is worth visiting, if only to read signs indicating what not to do, wear, speak or behave. Prissy Victorian English mores took root in the highlands of Sri Lanka while remnant traditions remain. Much of Nuwara Eliya’s architecture is Anglo-Indian, a bit of the Raj in central Sri Lanka.

Sri Lanka’s official tourism website: www.srilankatourism.org is recommended for hotel and internal travel recommendations. 

Built in the 5^th century BCE, designed by Iktinos (architect of Athens’ Parthenon and Temple of Hephaestus), it’s one of the best preserved monuments in all of ancient Greece. The setting is magnificent, high up in the Arcadian mountains (now part of the province of Messenia), the site commands its position just as you’d expect a temple dedicated to the supreme sun god would.

At over 1,100 metres in a little valley on the side of Mount Kotylion, Bassae was effectively saved by its remoteness. Most ancient temples were altered to serve Christianity or worse, destroyed as examples of paganism.

Bassae survived because it was (and is) so far off the beaten track, nearly everyone forgot it.

The first time I visited, I was simply awe-struck. The temple stood alone in a near perfect state of preservation. Acid rain hadn’t taken much of a toll on its limestone and marble, though snow and ice had caused cracks to appear in some of the pillars. Now the temple is covered by a huge tent while restoration work is undertaken.

The light on Apollo’s house isn’t so bright these days. Hopefully, when the work is completed it will be uncovered to the sun and elements as I believe it should be.

A narrow two-lane road winds up the mountain from tiny Andritsena to Bassae. Signs to the temple are few and not clearly marked. In winter the road is mostly impassable and I definitely wouldn’t want to be caught up there during a summer’s lightning storm. The site is very exposed but the views, particularly to the south are magnificent. On a clear day, the blue sea glimmers mirror like in the far distance.

There is no nearby accommodation. Andritsena is approximately 15 kilometres away, plenty of pension guesthouses and small hotels there.

Walks around the mountains and valleys from Andritsena are the best way to explore this beautiful pocket of Arcadia.

I had the whole temple and its surrounds to myself during my first visit. There were no other travellers on that autumn day years ago. Recently, I repeated the experience. On a perfect spring’s day, I had the place to myself again. Three Israeli travellers left ten minutes after I arrived. I was alone at Apollo’s sanctuary for the next two hours.

Bassae was inscribed on to the World Heritage List in 1986, the first ancient site in Greece. What’s it like having a UNESCO World Heritage site all on your lonesome for a day?

I felt privileged of course. Then I felt completely alone. The wind whistled through poppy flowers and wild olives. Scattered around the site white limestone boulders glistened in bright sunshine, remainders of the thriving ancient sanctuary. I was reminded again of an essential fact: we come into this world alone and we leave it the same way. People we meet along the way, loves lost, loves gained; constant friendships are what matter most but sometimes it’s necessary to be alone. Better to understand the journey. 

I returned to Greece for nostalgic reasons. Always one of my favourite countries, it has also confounded me while simultaneously delighting me.

Over the years my feelings haven't changed much.

An old friend once told me, ‘Never forget that Greece is halfway between Italy and Syria and it has a lot more in common with Syria.’ He was being a wag, but a Grecophile wag nonetheless.

Syria’s current crisis is an ongoing disaster driven primarily by religious differences, a dispute over land rights and the corrupt Assad regime. Syria is obviously not Greece.

Italy’s latest national election illustrated continuing political dramas. For an advanced European nation with a sizeable economy, Italy is a country whose factional differences cause it to lurch from right to left or left to right like a pendulum that never reaches equilibrium. Italy is obviously not Greece.

Greece however is still caught between the two, half occidental, half oriental. Leaving religious histories aside, Greece has more in common with Turkey than it has with Spain, despite the Mediterranean connection.

Government mismanagement has taken a huge toll on Greece's economy. Wealthy Greeks are masters at hiding income as tax evasion has almost become the national pastime. More money leaves Greece than stays in it and now the whole country has come to a virtual standstill while a new government sorts out its relationship with the EU. Funds provided by the EU were spent somewhat recklessly or worse still, squandered on political follies.

Proud hard working middle class Greeks, whose incomes have been severely reduced or cut altogether have been reduced to begging for medications, food and shelter.

In a society where family relationships still remain preeminent, rates of homelessness have sky-rocketed.

Latest data indicates a shift towards a less dire economic situation but the problems will never be solved until Greeks understand that paying taxes is a civic duty. If they're not happy with how their politicians spend the revenue, vote them out.

It's a curious scenario to witness such extreme political alienation in the land that birthed democracy.  All Greeks have been affected by the economic disaster.

Maybe I’ll never fully understand Greece but I’ll continue to try. The countryside is blessed with stunning natural beauty. Greek reliance on hospitality as a key national character trait, though challenged, continues to be the cultural norm. Historical patrimony remains an international draw card and Greeks are rightly proud of their past.

During this recent visit, the Peloponnese drew me into its charms once again.

I hired a car in Athens and headed west along the new motorway. Since the Athens Olympics of 2004, Greece was afforded more funds from the EU to improve infrastructure projects, spanking new motorways among them.

The trip to Corinth from Athens’ new airport took fewer than two hours. Not so long ago, the road west to the Peloponnese was overcrowded and narrow. The same journey could take up to six hours, particularly on holiday weekends when upwardly mobile Athenians left town for their country villas.  

Zipping past modern Corinth, as ever the mountain outcrop of ancient Acro-Corinth looming over the gulf and surrounding countryside, signalling the end of urban sprawl, I sped onwards towards Tripoli, exiting the motorway at the road to Vytina, my base for a few days exploration of the province once called Morea by Venetian and Ottoman conquerors and Arcadia by classical Greeks.

Vytina has grown into a get-away spot for townies trying to escape the city’s hubbub while international travellers focus on island hopping or getting as quickly as possible from Delphi to Olympia and back to Athens.

Random and narrow back lanes criss-cross the countryside around Vytina. I got lost a number of times while searching for a shrine to Theodoros Kolokotronis. The shrine became a chimera of sorts; I never found it. Instead I discovered a sacred spring and a tiny chapel in the woods.

No one else was there, a state I was getting used to after a few days in this part of the Peloponnese.

Many villages have emptied, there’s no work and people leave to seek work in the big cities. The countryside is depopulated as a consequence.

But some villages survive. Domestic tourism helps while wealthy Athenians use parts of ancient Arcadia as boltholes to escape Athens’ summer heat and crowds. International travellers stick to the traditional archaeological sites, the route from Mycenae to Epidaurus to Olympia, across the new Rion-Antirion bridge to Delphi and back to Athens, mostly giving the Peloponnesian interior a big miss.

Three villages are considered the gems of upper Arcadia: Vytina, Dimitsana and Stemnitsa.

Mostly overlooked by travellers, this isn’t the Greece of tourism brochures and online entreaties. No white houses or sandy beaches here. Instead, russet tiled roofs, grey stone houses, pine forests, isolated valleys and snow-capped mountains dominate the central Peloponnese highlands.

Roads are rough, not well signed and mostly empty. The only traffic I encounter is on the motorway leaving Athens.  Sheep cross the road willy-nilly. Shepherds are moving their flocks to summer pastures higher up the mountains. Donkeys graze along roadsides while chickens peck at grubs emerging in warmer weather.

The Loussios River flows through a canyon below Dimitsana.

A track follows the river for approximately ten kilometres and is one of the region’s best walks. In summer local operators run white water rafting trips through the Loussios Gorge.

Walkers should beware that during heavy rains the river rises very quickly and may inundate the track.

Both Stemnitsa and Dimitsana are stunningly sited villages, perched almost precariously along steep ridgelines with cliffs falling away on both sides of each village.

This part of the Peloponnese was integral in the Greek War of Independence between 1821 and 1832, sheltering many of its heroes during the revolutionary period that heralded the birth of the Greek state.

The revolutionary hero and general, Theodoros Kolokotronis, controlled many of his battle campaigns against the Ottoman Turks from a base in Stemnitsa. I never did find the shrine dedicated to his memory. No matter, the wild country still evokes places where an old revolutionary could easily hide out even today.

By the way, his son Ioannis Kolokotronis, (nicknamed ‘Gennaios’, meaning ‘brave’) was baptised in Stemnitsa. He later became the last Prime Minister to serve under King Otto.

From Arcadia I visited Napflio, the first capital of the Greek Hellenic Republic from 1821 until 1834 when the capital was moved to Athens. It was the capital of the ‘Kingdom of Morea’ under Venetian rule in the late 17^th and early 18^th centuries until the Ottomans captured the city in 1715. The Venetians built the enormous Palamidi castle to protect it from Ottoman invasion, to no avail obviously. The Ottoman Turks recaptured Napflio anyway.

The path up to Palamidi Castle is steep but the view from atop is well worth the effort.

It was the Venetian empire’s last major construction undertaken overseas. The castle dominates the city to this day. That’s quite a history for a small, albeit ancient, city.

Napflio makes an excellent base from which to explore nearby sites such as Epidaurus, Mycenae and Tyrins with its original Cyclopean walls.

Nowadays, Napflio is a fairly laid-back seaside town on the Argolic Gulf, again overlooked by most international travellers. Most of the narrow central streets are reserved for pedestrians only and the harbour esplanade is quite lovely.

It’s a place that embraces the sea and its history in equal measures. The seaside walk leading from town to a beach and camping site some ten kilometres along the Argolic Gulf is simply wonderful. Napflio is a town made for walking.

The Peloponnese has a special place in my own heart. It’s where I first fell in love with this always consternating sometimes crazy country. That loving feeling has been constant ever since I fell under the spell of lonely Bassae and Arcadian vales.

Go there. I hope you feel the same way.

Naked Facts:

Rather than visiting Greece on a packed super-ship cruising the islands or on board a full coach touring the major archaeological sites, consider a small scale alternative, the do-it-yourself option with local help.

Two smart entrepreneurial Greek women started an unusual hotel booking service business a few years ago. While travelling around their beloved homeland they’ve sought out small privately owned and run hotels, brought them together under one banner and put their collection out to the travelling public.

Before this bespoke booking service was created, ‘buyer beware’ circumstances governed internet searches for boutique country accommodation in Greece. Small inns or farm stays chosen at random via an internet search may not always prove to be so attractive when experienced in person. Hard enough suffering the consequences of making unfortunate choices; consider also the time spent organising multiple accommodation selections. Anyone trying to arrange sequential hotel bookings unless fluent in Greek, would find the process difficult. Not anymore.

I stayed in Napflio at the Omorfi Poli Hotel, six rooms in a beautifully restored townhouse a few minutes walk from the town’s harbour and its assortment of waterside restaurants and cafes.

After a few nights I felt like a member of a family, just what I needed after weeks of travelling solo.

The Guest Inn collection is a carefully selected group of reasonably priced small family run guesthouses spread around the country, many of them in off-the-beaten-track locations.

See www.guestinn.com for details, suggested itineraries and bookings.

In Vytina, I stayed at another family run hotel, the Grand Vytina. It’s not really a grand hotel, more a typical middle-ranged boutique guesthouse. Rooms are well maintained but basic. Breakfast was very ordinary.

The best thing about the Grand Vytina is its location about 500 metres pleasant walk from the town centre.

See www.grand-vytina.gr

In Vytina, the Taverna Klimataria is the best in town. Run by a lovely couple, Eleni and Theodoros, (Eleni’s English is excellent), the menu is entirely comprised of locally sourced produce cooked with care and love. Arcadian honey is also sold here.

In Napflio the restaurants Amalou on the town’s main central square and Omorfi Napflio on the harbour esplanade walk are both recommended. I ate reasonably good meals in both, though friendly service won out over slightly above average food.

According to Mapping LA Project’s 2010 data, 272 neighbourhoods co-exist as separate entities within the city’s official limits. This doesn’t include the suburbs outside Los Angeles’ boundary lines.

Los Angeles County contains another 87 incorporated cities in addition to Los Angeles city itself.

The LA megalopolis of Orange, Ventura, San Bernardino and Riverside counties list well over another 100 incorporated cities, with new names being added yearly. 

Over 50 years ago, the wonderfully acerbic New York based writer Dorothy Parker worked for a time as a Hollywood scriptwriter. She described Los Angeles as, ’72 suburbs in search of a city’.

Parker’s description still resonates today.

By 2013, some 15 million people are claimed by official census counts to live in greater LA but that number is surely a cautious underestimate. Migrants from round the world, but primarily from Central and South America, add hundreds of thousands more to the population tally, albeit unofficially.

LA has a kind of downtown but it’s nothing at all like New York City’s or Chicago’s downtowns, both of which are easily located on maps and criss-crossed by public transport networks.

Seen from space, LA sprawls ever outwards at the speed of light like a whirling galaxy lit by an infinite number of car headlights.

Yes, this is the original smog city. Cars rule LA. Despite an impressive underground rail network systematically embedded into the grid since 1990 (Metro Rail: six lines, a mix of heavy and light rail currently operate, boasting just over 360,000 customers per average weekday) that mixes and connects with the city’s rapid transit bus service, LA is still almost entirely consumed by roads packed with millions of vehicles.  

So, how does a traveller cope with this kind of geographical enormity?

Driving is not recommended. It takes more than two hours, even on a slow traffic day just to cross from The Valley (San Fernando Valley) to Long Beach.

Surely, a travelling life is too short to be wasted sitting in traffic on an LA freeway.

I suggest a stay-put-and-focus-on-a-few-neighbourhoods-approach. Grasping the sheer scope of LA’s depth and breadth is easier this way.

One of the oldest registered towns in greater LA, indeed California, is Santa Monica, a perfect place to stay put while making sense of LA’s vastness.

Beachside, funky, gentrified but not dead, expensive, cheap, colourful and best of all, fairly central to whatever the centre of LA actually is, are descriptions that come to mind when I consider Santa Monica.

It’s not Hollywood boho, nor is it Beverly Hills chic. It’s not way out weird, retro-hippy stoner-ville Venice, though Venice’s beach is just a few kilometres down from Santa Monica’s beach. Uber-rich Malibu is just a few kilometres up the same beach road for comparison’s sake. To its east are sky-scrapered downtown LA, corporatised Culver City and Century City and one of America’s oldest Chinatowns.

The horrendous LAX isn’t too far away either, close enough to facilitate an easy escape and far enough so jet engine noise is beyond hearing.

In short, you could do far worse when considering a pleasant base in which to settle during a visit to La-La Land.

Blessedly bordered by a typical LA beach, wide, windswept, usually crowded and equally blessed by well maintained public gardens and parks, Santa Monica is the sort of LA suburb that seems a tiny bit like paradise secreted into an urban hell.

There are cool, trendy star-spotted restaurants. There’s also a scattering of down-home diners in traditional American style where a breakfast of Mexican omelette, hashed brown potatoes, bacon and endless cups of bad coffee will cost less than USD$15, toast, jam and butter included.

There are beachside bars that rival those in Cannes or Venice for film celebrity spotting. And there are bars that can best be described as dives but perfect for meeting local characters who aren’t in show business, or they used to be but don’t want to talk about it anymore.

So what’s essential to a visit in Santa Monica? Apart from strolling up and down the beach walk, don’t miss the famous Santa Monica Pier. Here is where tourists collect like bees to a queen that’s loaded with honey. It’s the photo money shot, a great place to watch the passing foot parade, watch a sunset over the Pacific and buy tourist junk.

Better yet, it’s where America’s most famous national highway, Route 66 ends, or begins. From Santa Monica’s pier, up the Santa Monica Freeway to downtown LA and beyond, the road that inspired a truckload of songs continues to Chicago. A small map affixed to one of the pier’s buildings shows the old route, including a potted history of the road that brought the rest of America to California.

There’s a Santa Monica Museum of Art ( www.smmoa.org ) to wander through, filled with local and international talent. The museum is connected to the Bergamot Station Art Center, (by 2016 Santa Monica will link to downtown LA via Metro Rail’s newest line at Bergamot Station) which also houses over 40 private art galleries.

As one of California’s oldest settlements, the appropriately named, Santa Monica History Museum ( www.santamonicahistory.org ) is also worth visiting, if only to gain some understanding of how much times have changed in fewer than 500 years of colonial settlement.

Third Street Promenade is right in the centre of town, a pedestrian zone packed with upscale, low-scale and everything in between shops and cafes. In a city overrun with cars, any street dedicated to pedestrians is a godsend.

Befitting its health-conscious status, Santa Monica offers four farmer’s markets each week, rain or shine according to its website www.smgov.net/portals/farmersmarket/ . I spent a glorious Wednesday morning at the Arizona Street market chatting with growers who had driven to Santa Monica from as far away as Bakersfield, over 150 kilometres as the crow flies.

Visiting the farmer’s market was one of the best experiences I’d had in Santa Monica, a lucky find as I wasn’t looking for a market, instead wandering the back streets away from the beach in an attempt to grasp the feel of this town within a city.  

The ex-patriot American writer Gertrude Stein once said that ‘There is no there, there’ when she described her childhood home town Oakland, California. I often wonder the same when I think of LA, mentally searching for a soulful centre in a city that many cynical travellers like me believe has none.

Though I’m still looking for LA’s soul, for me Santa Monica has become a reasonably fine base while the search continues.

Tom Neal Tacker travelled as a guest of Qantas Airways and the Santa Monica Visitors Bureau.

Naked Facts:

See www.santamonica.com for the latest updates on events, festivals, shows and general information. 

Naked Sleeps:

The Shore Hotel is the newest boutique kid on the beach block. Quite spacious rooms with all the mod-cons a 5-star property is supposed to have, including a fabulous location overlooking the tatty-famous pier, the beach and its adjoining glorious stretch of parklands, it’s a small-ish hotel that really delivers the goods.

The Shore is partnered with Sea-thos Foundation, a non-profit that promotes education and awareness of human impact on the world’s oceans. It’s also the only newly built Gold certified LEED hotel in Santa Monica.

I got lucky with a deluxe top floor beach facing room with floor to ceiling windows, double glazed to keep out traffic noise thankfully, with views that extended all the way to Malibu.

My room’s colour scheme was a cool mix of 70s orange with more contemporary blues and greens, very aquatic oriented without being kitsch.

Room decor certainly differs from the hotel’s overall appearance. The public areas are wide open and very well lit with lots of glass, eye-poppingly bright on a sunny southern California day.

Back to my room, the huge bathroom was stocked with decent toiletries, had good lighting (a failure in so many hotels) and a roomy shower stall with a large shower rose.

A small entry foyer fully separated the bedroom from any noise emanating from the hallway, a very nice feature I appreciated fully while trying to catch up on sleep.

The bed was a king-sized monster that gripped me like a lover. Wrapped in high quality linen, I slept exceedingly well. A single comfortable armchair and a low side table completed the stylish picture.

Wifi was free. The desk size was more than adequate though I was distracted by the views over the beach and Malibu so I didn’t get much work done. No complaints there.

Since my recent stay, the hotel has opened a restaurant/bar next to its pool. It’s called Blue Plate Taco and is part of a small chain of local restaurants. I’ve heard good reports.

Rates average USD$400 per night not including tax. See www.shorehotel.com

Naked Eats:

Right next door to The Shore Hotel is Ivy at the Shore, part of a small group of restaurants. The Santa Monica Ivy is as known for its celebrity spotting as it is for its food. A kind of LA trade-off where average food sold at high prices is compensated by the chance to dine in the same room as a soap opera star. Anyway, the food at this Ivy is above average. Views over the park and beach from street side tables are highly desirable. Good cocktails. You’d need to reserve a table here. 1535 Ocean Ave. Tel: +1 310 393 3113

Jinky’s is an old fashioned American diner that serves reasonable food at reasonable prices. Breakfast here is the go. 1447 2^nd St. Tel: +1 310 917 3311

Make a trip and help celebrate the capital city’s 100th birthday. Hard to believe isn’t it? Merely one hundred years ago, Canberra was basically a series of disconnected sheep paddocks.

When a political deal was made declaring the new city had to be at least 100 miles from Sydney but within the state of New South Wales, an arrangement aimed to settle the ongoing rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne, the former sheep station grew from a compromise between warring state’s factions into the Bush Capital we see now. An international competition to design the world's newest capital city was announced. The race was on.

 A lot can happen in one hundred years.

 At the National Archives, the rarely seen original plans and drawings for the competition are on display. To see the genius of Walter Burley Griffin’s design coupled with Marion Mahony’s splendid draughtsmanship is a rare treat.

The international design competition was launched in 1911. In 1912 it was decided that Walter Burley Griffin with his wife and business partner Marion Mahony had won the prize with their novel entry, which described the future city ensconced in bushy parkland blessed by sweeping vistas and gracious public spaces.

Clearly, they were not averse to using a round-about as a traffic calming strategy. Canberra is Australia’s round-about capital, a circle within a sphere within a circumference. Canberra's only geographically straight streets extend from one grand public edifice to another: Parliament House, The Australian War Memorial, the Governor General's house at Yarralumla (close to the Prime Minister's residence, The Lodge) and the main road north from the downtown Civic precinct. The arrangement allows for many sweeping views. The remainder of Canberra's 'streetscapes' is essentially a circular argument.

Officially construction commenced 12 March 1913 with the laying of the foundation stone of the commencement column. The National Archives’ collection of Jack Mildenhall’s photographs help to illuminate how barren Canberra’s landscape once was.

The Burley-Griffin’s concept was quite different to others on the short list. French designer Donat-Alfred Agache’s design is like an antipodean version of Paris with lots of formal water gardens. Eliel Saarinen’s design resembles an Art-Deco stand-in for Helsinki. Australians, Walter Scott Griffiths, Robert Charles Coulter and Charles Caswell’s design is surprisingly industrial.

The National Archives is situated in Canberra’s former main Post Office building, interesting in itself. By all means, have a look at the competing designs and pick your own winner. Complimentary use of interpretive iPads is available to accompany the already well researched displays.

The Old Parliament House is now the Museum of Australian Democracy at Old Parliament House. A marvellous museum packed with exhibits stretching back to the birth of democracy in Athens up to contemporary concerns such as Australia becoming a republic. The whole museum is very engaging with lots of interactive displays (vote for a Republic?) competing with the solemnity of the House of Representatives and the Senate chambers. The former Prime Minister’s office is open to the public as well. Bob Hawke was its last full time incumbent, not so very long ago.

The Old Parliament House rose gardens have recently been restored and are now open to the public. Nice spot for a picnic.

The new National Portrait Gallery, conveniently located next door to the National Gallery of Australia, is also quite marvellous. Stepping back into time, gazing at faces from the colonial era reveals a past many Australians often forget. Contemporary portraits are like looking at old friends and familiar faces. It’s the kind of museum where you may find yourself pointing at someone’s face you know, hanging on a wall for everyone else to see.

Like most international capital cities, Canberra is blessed with an abundance of museums and galleries. I won’t list them all here but must make special mention of the National Museum of Australia and the Australian War Memorial. A visit to Canberra that doesn’t include stopping at both these excellent museums is culturally and intellectually bereft.

For a city designed like a huge garden space, Canberra is also blessed with superb public gardens foremost among them are the National Botanic Gardens and the National Arboretum.

The National Capital Exhibition is also highly recommended for its exhibits devoted to local Indigenous culture and Canberra’s history before it grew into a modern city.

Both the High Court and Parliament House are open to the public. Parliamentary proceedings are open to visitors. Question time is 2pm when the House is sitting. (BYO vuvuzela?) Likewise the High Court is open to the public. Proceedings are accessible to visitors though tours must be booked in advance. Online is best. When the High Court is sitting, visitors are welcome to view the action from any one of the three courtrooms.

All that cultural and historical stimulation also requires sustenance of a more basic kind: food and drink.

I’ve done the hard yards and condensed the array of dining, wining and shopping choices to the following summary. It’s by no means a locked in and secure list. Instead it’s a subjective approach to what I’ve experienced and is certainly open-ended. All I can say is that this is a thriving region for hungry, thirsty people like me. Bring it on.

Naked Drinking:

Canberra’s wineries are more or less spread out in two different directions from the city centre, east to Bungendore and north to Murrumbateman with a few others closer to town and a few nestled into the slope bordering on the ever mysterious Lake George, though the Lake George wineries are usually included in maps that focus on Bungendore.

It’s best to divide your visits accordingly and try not to combine the two centres in one day. Spend at least one day in and around Bungendore and do the same for Murrumbateman. This will reduce driving time and allow for a relaxing lunch and shopping.

The Canberra District Wine Industry Association & Spirited Communications has produced a very good free map. Check www.visitcanberra.com.au

Be sure to check opening hours for all wineries. Some keep public holiday and weekends only visiting hours or require an appointment first.

Clonakilla Winery

Crisps Lane, Murrumbateman

(02) 6227 5877

www.clonakilla.com.au

 Tim Kirk is one of Canberra’s gifted-with-the-grape geniuses. What he can do with Shiraz and Viognier verges on alchemy. Clonakilla slays them at the wine shows when it enters. Tim’s cellar door is charmingly rustic, much like the man himself. Like so much of Canberra’s terrain, the Clonakilla vineyard appears weathered, old and hunkered down. Shiraz loves it. The wines are pure cool climate, spicy and incredibly complex.

Helm Wines

Butts Road, Murrumbateman

(02) 6227 5953

www.helmwines.com.au

Ken and Judith Helm are local heroes having owned and operated their eponymous winery since 1973, one of the oldest in the district. Ken makes a standout Riesling, Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. The Riesling is ethereal, seductive and lifts itself from the glass like a ballerina on point, all grace and beauty. The cellar door, formerly the local schoolhouse, is a pure delight. Check out former school mistress Miss Minnie May Young’s photo near the door. She taught there from 1897 until 1904 and ran temperance classes where you now sample Helm’s wines. Further irony… she married an Armstrong who didn’t drink and later became former National Party leader Ian Armstrong’s great aunt.

Gallagher Wines

2770 Dog Trap Road, Murrumbateman

(02) 6227 0555

www.gallagherwines.com.au

This charming winery has a typical cool climate range of Canberra-friendly grape varieties. Trophies on display usually mean that there’s good stuff to taste. There are plenty of awards and trophies adorning Gallagher’s wines but what entranced me most was that Mrs. Gallagher also makes what I’ve learned is Canberra’s only regional cheese, marinated labne, a soft cheese perfect for spreading over a slice of wood fired sourdough bread.

Shaw Vineyard Estate

34 Isabell Drive, Murrumbateman

(02) 6227 5827

www.shawvineyards.com.au

At over 30 hectares, Shaw is one of Canberra’s largest as well as newest vineyards. It’s definitely worth a look to see what the newest kids on the block are doing. With so much area to work with, Shaw is doing an interesting range. This is a great opportunity to catch a rising star.

Pankhurst Wines

Old Woodgrove Road, Hall

(02) 6230 2592

www.pankhurstwines.com.au

Set in a stunning location overlooking the Brindabella Ranges stretching across to the southern horizon, this winery does a mean Chardonnay among other varieties. As it’s close to Hall, try stopping there to have a look at what was the local village before Canberra was built. Hall has retained its colonial roots and hosts a large produce and crafts market the first Sunday of each month except in January.   

Mount Majura Vineyard

RMB 314 Majura Road, Majura

(02) 6262 3070

www.mountmajura.com.au

Majura is on the outskirts of Canberra at the foot of Mount Majura. The spanking new cellar door also houses an evolving contemporary art gallery space. Very funky. Winemaker Frank van der Loo is doing wonderful things with Majura’s Chardonnay, Riesling, Shiraz, Pinot Gris and Tempranillo. All five of these varieties are showing up splendid examples under Frank’s expert skills. The Dinny’s Blend, a Cabernet Franc dominant house blend is also a little ripper. The Tempranillo is certainly one of the best I’ve tasted made in Australia. Frank also makes a Riesling based Vino Cotto (cooked grape must) that is a gift to any enterprising cook. Majura conducts a walkabout 'Gumboot Tour' of the vineyards offering the visitor a rare opportunity to get close and personal with the grapes, the soil and the terroir.

Lerida Estate

Westering Federal Highway, Lake George

(02) 6295 6640 or weekends (02) 4848 0231

www.leridaestate.com.au

I’ve certainly enjoyed the wines here. Lerida bought neighbouring Madew Estate some years ago, acquiring top quality Chardonnay, Riesling and Pinot Gris vineyards in addition to its Shiraz, Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Viognier. I particularly like the Merlot/Cabernet Franc blend, as close as we get to a Pomerol style wine in Australia. Lerida Estate has a lovely airy cellar door perched on the slope overlooking the vineyards and the distant and nearly always dry Lake George. Cafe Lerida is the winery’s excellent restaurant adjoining the tasting bar. It’s well worth combining a tasting visit with an eating visit. Certainly the wines taste even better when they’re paired so winningly with the food. Best of all, the cellar door and restaurant are open 10am to 5pm daily.

Lambert Vineyards and Café

810 Norton Road, Wamboin

(02) 6238 3866

www.lambertvineyards.com.au

Steve and Ruth Lambert established their winery in 1991. The café came along a little later and has proved to be a win-win combination. Steve’s wines are uniformly terrific, particularly his Pinot Gris, Chardonnay, Shiraz and an easy on the palate Rose. The Lamberts have provided a needed lift to the Bungendore food scene. The views over the countryside and vineyards are sublimely peaceful.

Lark Hill Winery

521 Bungendore Road, Bungendore

(02) 6238 1393

www.larkhillwine.com.au

Owner/winemaker family, Dave, Sue and Chris Carpenter comprise a biodynamic trio. This is the Canberra district’s highest vineyard; the scenery from 860 metres up is beautiful and wildlife abounds. The biodynamic pesticide free environment attracts the friendliest of furry and feathered neighbours--like the very large mob of roos when I visited. The cellar door is all old stone and atmosphere. The wines are dead set excellent, yields are at the extreme end of low and the vines suffer for their success. Benchmark Pinot Noir, Riesling and Chardonnay set a hard-to-follow standard for the Canberra wine community. Qantas has both Lark Hill Chardonnay and Pinot Noir on offer in its Business Class. Un-miss-able.  If you're feeling hungry, stay for lunch at their new-ish restaurant. With country cooking this good, Lark Hill wines show off even better.

Naked Eating:

Canberra’s food-fanatical coterie of devotees has developed into something quite interesting. I try to keep up with the best but it’s an ever-evolving scene. Here at least is my edited selection of some of the best.

Fyshwick Markets

Dalby and Mildura Streets, Fyshwick

Weekly Thursday to Sunday

This is Canberra’s main fresh food market open for retail as well as wholesale. Check out what the restaurateurs are buying. Talk to the purveyors to ascertain the best on offer. Check out The Mart (ask directions to which corner of the market it’s located in) for the Canberra deli to beat all other delis.

The Capital Region Farmers Market

Weekly every  Saturday

Exhibition Park, Mitchell

A great selection of the region's best produce--straight from paddock to plate.

Old Bus Depot Market

Wentworth Avenue, Kingston

Every Sunday from 10am until 4pm

All Australian made arts, crafts and farm grown products place this market in the special category. Talk to the growers. Meet the makers. Shop with pride.

Silo Bakery

36 Giles Street, Kingston

(02) 6260 6060

This café/bakery does the best bread in Canberra. It also offers some of the best lunch options anywhere. The walk-in cheese room is full of what can’t be bought elsewhere in town. Stock up now and don’t forget the fruit pastries

The Ginger Room—closed and awaiting a new proprietor.

Old Parliament House, King George Terrace, Parkes

(02) 6270 8262

This was once one of Canberra’s best restaurants. The Ginger Room stood out for me for its glimpse of Canberra’s past. The restaurant occupies one of the member’s dining rooms and after the room was stripped of layers of paint, smoke stain and dirt it revealed wonderfully painted wall panels of ginger flowers. The room now reeks with an undeniable style of its own. An adjoining cocktail bar is closed and awaiting a new proprietor, a sad end to a refreshed start. The cafe operating in the Museum of Australian Democracy (Old Parliament House) also acts as a retailer selling locally grown and made produce. Sadly, the food is ordinary and derivative, obviously sourced from a catering company off site.

Benchmark Wine Bar

65 Northbourne Avenue, Civic

(02) 6262 6522

www.benchmarkwinebar.com.au

This is Canberra’s best wine bar since 2003. The choice of wines is breathtaking. Opt for a flight to sample three related wines at the one time, pausing to compare and contrast the differences between them. Dining here is certainly wine focused but the food usually matches the pace set by the high standard of the array of wines for sale.

Aubergine

18 Barker St, Griffith

(02) 6260 8666

www.aubergine.com.au

Canberra isn't replete with fine dining establishments, slim pickings at the top end but Aubergine fills an empty space with flair. Though Aubergine is fairly casual, the quality of the cooking combined with an interesting wine list and good service makes this one of the capital's most enticing restaurants.

Ottoman Cuisine

9 Broughton St, Barton

(02) 6273 6111

www.ottomancuisine.com.au

This Turkish inspired dining room has grown into a local institution. Spot the 'pollie' between courses of accomplished Turkish food is a fun game to play while waiting on the next plate of exquisite stuffed vegetables or wrapped meats.

Kingston Grind Café

Jardine Street, Green Square, Kingston

(02) 6295 8189

Arguably serving Canberra’s best coffee though I realise that making a claim like that invites a certain degree of competitive wrath. I like the Grind, thought it’s seen better days.  Its position on the square in trendy Kingston with big windows looking out to the mundane YMCA second hand store across the road and its normally friendly service all appeal. Breakfast isn’t bad either.

 Poachers Pantry Smokehouse Café and Wily Trout Vineyard

“Marakei”

Nanima Road, Hall

(02) 6230 2487

What a lovely place this is! The 1930s era weatherboard farm cottage graciously restored into a café restaurant and tasting room is unique. Certainly the smoked meats on sale and for tasting are like none elsewhere. Smoked chicken, quail, duck, lamb, pork, emu and kangaroo present more choice than even the most dedicated smoked meats fan can narrow down to a couple of favourites. The kangaroo prosciutto is so succulent it melts in the mouth. The smoked duck breast floats my boat any day. Try the Wily Trout wines while at Poachers, mix or match them with the smoked meats. Even better, eat at the café and see what the resident chefs do with this superb produce.

Grazing Restaurant and Café

The Royal Hotel

Cnr Cork and Harp Streets, Gundaroo

(02) 6236 8777

www.grazing.com.au

This is definitely one of Australia’s finest country restaurants. The food is home-hearty but refined. Flavours are distinctly delineated; nothing is too jumbled or confused. A country terrine arrives warm and sautéed rather than cold and congealed. The house made savoury tomato relish that accompanies it contrasts nicely against the unctuous fattiness in the terrine. A Guinness, beef and mushroom pie with mash would normally feed a football team. Here it more than feeds one without leaving a bulge around the midriff, its flavours being more important than mere bulk. A quince and vanilla custard tart with sour cream ice cream left me speechless with delight. The wine list comprises solely Canberra District wines. This is not only a Canberra treasure. It’s a national treasure.

Naked Tips:

The venues listed here are all very popular with the in crowd. Ring ahead to make a booking or be prepared to wait. The markets are at their best either very early or very late when the 'specials' are available for a bargain price.

Naked Accommodation:

Once the domain of soulless corporate motels, Canberra has emerged as a holiday destination offering the best of boutique hotel and apartment stays. Here’s a preferred short list.

Hyatt Hotel Canberra

Commonwealth Avenue, Yarralumla

(02) 6270 1234

www.canberra.hyatt.com

Yeah, I know, it’s the only real 5-star place in town and at times it can be soulless and corporate--I bite my tongue--but the hotel has history. This was the Liberal party’s home away from home. With a bit of imagination, it’s possible to see the ghosts of John Gorton or 'Pig Iron' Bob Menzies himself leaning against a wall in the lobby. Oh so tastefully restored and dignified, lots of room for functions and exhibitions, the Hyatt sometimes appears over-gentrified but where else in Canberra can you get 24-hours room service and a taxi when you need one? Avoid the rooms overlooking the back car park. The noise levels are often intrusive.

The Hotel Kurrajong

National Circuit, Barton

(02) 6234 4444

www.hotelkurrajong.com.au

The Kurrajong has grown on me. The hotel shares the Australian International Hotel School attached to it and occasionally the student help seems more 'student' than polished professional but that’s part of its charm. Like the Canberra, the Kurrajong is one of Canberra’s original great hotels but this was the Labor party’s hangout. Ben Chifley stayed, lived, worked and eventually died here and his room is now something of a shrine. The other rooms have been updated and refurbished but haven’t lost their sense of history. There’s plenty of soul and in a building with a truly important past too. Don’t miss having a drink or meal on the verandah in the courtyard garden. New managers were announced recently. The hotel will soon become part of the Travelodge chain. Hopefully this large hotel group won’t ruin the place.

Country Guesthouse Schonegg

381 Hillview Drive, Murrumbateman

(02) 6227 0344

www.schonegg.com.au

A rare gem, The Schonegg has six lovely suites; it’s small and exclusive. Owner operators Richard and Evelyn Everson have a wealth of combined experience and talent in the hospitality game. It certainly shows in their seemingly effortless ability to make the guest seem very welcome and looked after. Richard is a chef of outstanding talent. Dinners and breakfasts are included in the overall tariff. Don’t miss them under any circumstance. Evelyn is a dab hand with pastries and cakes and as the major-domo she rules with utter grace and warmth.

The Realm Precinct

18 National Circuit, Barton

(02) 6163 1800

www.hotelrealm.com.au

Conveniently located in the Parliamentary Precinct, this cool and clean hotel claims 5-star status.

During a recent visit, I was pleasantly surprised, mostly by the professionalism of its staff members, less so by the quality of the catering. I’m sick to death of tired buffet breakfasts in Australian hotels.

If I see another large bowl of Bircher muesli that looks like plasterer's putty and a platter of very unripe watermelon, muskmelon, rockmelon and pineapple slices posing as ‘fresh fruit’ I’ll yell very loudly. Quantities of scrambled and poached eggs congealing in metal tins sitting in a warm water bath are an abomination. The only good use for a bain-marie in these days of intelligent cooking is emptied out and filled with dirt to be used as a garden planter. The packaged juices dispensed from large urns with spigots and a toasting machine that takes forever to toast a stale slice of bread were equally unappealing. Coffee out of a ‘use-it-yourself’ espresso machine stocked with very ordinary coffee beans added more insult to injury. All this for an extra $25 per person? I should have gone to the Silo Bakery instead.

Rooms on the executive level are spacious and moderately well-appointed. We could have used a full length mirror and better bathroom lighting, but these are minor quibbles.

When or if The Realm sorts out its breakfast service, I’d stay there again.

Naked Tips:

Visit the Visitor’s Centres in Canberra or in Yass for more recommendations regarding accommodation. There are numerous B & B guesthouses dotted all around Canberra’s countryside, some slick and professional, some too twee for words. For longer stays, Canberra has many very good serviced apartments, particularly around Kingston, Griffith, Barton and Yarralumla.

Best time to visit: Anytime really. Canberra has become something of an events and festivals city so take care and book well ahead if something really big is on. Four seasons mean four distinct average temperature ranges. Spring and Autumn are perfect.

Most under-rated aspect: The wines, the restaurants and the surrounding countryside. Get away from the city roundabouts!

Most over-rated aspects: The Summernats rev-heads car crash festival in January is when people who like to wine and dine give Canberra a big miss.

Prepare yourself for: Biting cold in winter and damned annoying blowflies in summer.

Watch out for: Time. You’ll need more of it than you may anticipate for having a really good look around.

Best value: Some Canberra wineries are among Australia’s best and they represent incredible value for the serious shopper.

On our initial day, we have a picnic. I like picnicking: cheese, bread, fruit, maybe a pate or terrine, a quiche perhaps? Chilled bottles of wine drunk in warm countryside.

Instead, we’re huddled under a canopy at the Thingvellir National Park, the site of Iceland and supposedly the world’s first parliament (the Thingvellir Viking Parliament) in a valley surrounded by low volcanic mountains which coincidentally share the fault line where western Iceland separates from eastern Iceland. Split politically right from the start. Same as it ever was.

The wind blows my instant chicken noodle soup clear out of the plastic mug. I put my back to the ceaseless icy wind, feeling shards of frozen sleet blast against my hooded parka. My hands are stiff with cold. Trying hard to respect the important austerity of Iceland’s most historic pilgrimage place, I can only think about how I can hold a second mug of soup out of the wind long enough for me to drink it.

This is not a picnic. This is a test of wills. Mine is losing against the elements.

We were scheduled to spend our fabulous first night on a 'Winter Highlights' expedition jeep trek across Iceland’s mountainous interior in a farmhouse near a beach popular with seals at Skagafjord on Iceland's northern coast. Our guide reached the owner of the hut by phone warning him of our imminent arrival. The reply was daunting. ‘Don’t come. I can’t get the door open. The wind is blowing too hard against it.’

We continue driving up the spectacularly beautiful western coast road along Faza Bay on the Thjodvegur Road past to Hrutey and turn inland towards Akureyri then south some twenty kilometres to a different farmhouse better sheltered against the furious winds.

We arrive just before dark, enough time to cross country to visit an isolated ice cave. We chat about elves and trolls that are said to inhabit caves throughout Iceland. Evidently there are trolls in this cave. I don’t see trolls but I do see an extended white frozen tunnel, an extinct lava tube that recedes into darkness. If a coven of vampires were looking for a hang-out in Iceland, this would be prime habitat. I’m blue with cold. We’ve hiked a kilometre from where we left the super jeep across snowy fields to reach Dracula’s lair, a.k.a. troll cave.

The weather then took a turn for the worse.

The following day, conditions became absolutely appalling. We bounced from one snow drift to another. 'White Out' was the meteorological operative phrase for two whole days of driving. No horizon, no landscape, simply hour after hour of white nothingness which we traversed via GPS. The road had disappeared completely. We pressed on to a mountain hut, donned snowshoes and walked around a hot springs area while trying to remain standing so as not to fall into the scalding sulfurous water.

Outside the jeep all I could see was white. Inside the jeep, all I could see was white windows or fellow frozen passengers. Once we stopped to look out over a lake behind a dam, part of western central Iceland’s hydro-electric system. An Arctic fox ran quickly away from us, a smart move I thought  It ran with purpose, probably to its den in a protected position out of the wind. For a moment, I felt jealous.

I am not a masochist. I am not a masochist.

On day three, while trying to ascend a dormant volcanic crater rim that overlooks other dormant volcanoes I felt my feet lifting off the ground. Through the driving snow I could almost see the hand in front of my face that was gripping a rock while the other was gripping a rope fence. I ran downhill back to the jeep, an easy feat as the wind was at my back for a change. I may have skipped a few steps and felt quite uplifted while doing it.

We visited another dramatic canyon riven by steam vents and waterfalls tumbling along its sheer cliffs. Only a few kilometres from our accommodation, I chose to walk back, relieved to be out of the jeep.

The wind was at my back and though I nearly froze solid, it was worth it just to come across a small herd of Icelandic horses corralled about a kilometre from the farmhouse where we stayed.

These amazingly hardy small horses are unique to Iceland. They can tough out the harsh winter conditions unlike other horses. Well insulated under shaggy coats, rear ends perpetually facing the biting winds, they look placid, as if this blizzard without end is just another walk in the park.

Interestingly, if an Icelandic horse is taken off the island, it's never allowed to return. No other breed of horse is allowed on Iceland either. The local horses have the place all to themselves. Were I given to anthropomorphising animals, from the look on the faces of these horses, I would guess that they're quite happy having Iceland all to themselves.

Each night we arrive at a different remote, deserted mountain hut, unpack our gear, prepare dinner and go to bed early. One night I cooked fried fish. Another night one of our guides prepared lamb stew. It had lamb, carrots and onions. We ate it again the next day for lunch but then we called it lamb soup.

Here’s an interesting titbit of information. Iceland's national dish is rotten shark called ‘Hakarl’. Icelandic farmers like to eat it interspersed with straight shots of ‘Brennivin’, a.k.a. ‘Black Death’, the local version of aquavit.

To prepare: A gutted and headless shark is buried in a gravelly pit for several months. The putrid shark flesh is then air dried in a shed until it reaches cardboard stiffness. After months of curing, this delicacy is ready to eat. Rotten air dried shark reeks of ammonia and rancidity, sort of what I imagine very old cheap blue cheese that has been pissed on by a football team full of beer would taste like if it was left out of the fridge for a month or two. This national culinary delight invokes much patriotism among local people. It’s best not to criticise it in a room full of Icelanders as they may take offence and push you from a pub outside into a Force 10 gale. I have heard tales...

Iceland’s scenery is undeniably awe-inspiring, when weather permits seeing it. As the Earth cracks up the middle of Iceland, volcanoes, geysers and mountains with gushing waterfalls are created. One of the most famous waterfalls, Gullfloss, is an incredible sight. Nearly encased in cliffs of ice, torrents of water continue to run down a long canyon that ends in a drop off into a bluish abyss, it is truly impressive. With landscapes like these, it’s completely understandable that early Icelanders were wonder-struck by their shaky island.

By day four the weather began to clear a bit. Mount Hekla was nearby but we went higher up to a remote valley, ‘floating’ over snow in our super-Jeeps with their huge tyres from Hveravellir to Landmannalaugar where we stayed the night.

In summer, Landmannalaugar is justifiably popular with trekkers and campers. Hot springs bubble away near the single large accommodation hut. A lovely alpine river flows across the valley ringed by mountains and meadows.

We struggle to cross the swiftly running river. Its banks are now frozen, ice piled high on both sides. One Superjeep has to be towed out by another. Our two vehicles are rapidly encased in ice. Tyre pressure has to be lowered again. It takes 45 minutes to cross the river. It takes as long to clear the axles and tyres of solid ice when we get across to our accommodation.

In winter, Landmannalaugar is a vastly different place; empty and almost forlorn. The hut has no running water because of frozen pipes and no electricity. We hook up to car batteries to supplement the one hard working solar cell, essentially useless in these dark, cloudy conditions. To make matters worse, the outside bathroom toilet hut has nearly disappeared under snow.

To make the most of a fairly dire situation, we snowshoed up the valley, over a rocky ridge and across glacier crevasses. The guides seemed to know what they were doing so I went along for the hike, thankful not to be stuck in the back of a jeep again, or worse, in the hut where I was to spend the night. With diminishing winds, the land appeared stark in various shades of white. No one else was there. It's a very remote place.

300,000 people live in Iceland, 200,000 of them reside in and near Reykjavik, which is essentially a large country town with a few funky bars equipped with sound systems playing lots of Bjork and a few other significant Icelandic bands unknown outside Iceland. The country is the size of Kentucky or Victoria, to give you an idea of land proportions compared to population. There is a lot of empty space, almost none of it arable. Now I know why as it's mostly uninhabitable too.

On our last day, we return to Reykjavik via Geysir. This is the original geyser, the mother of all geysers as the rest of the world's geysers take their name from this one.

The incessant wind has mercifully begun to subside. Steam rising from Geysir lifts almost straight up into a pale blue sky, a vision I thought I'd never see again.

Some twenty kilometres outside Reykjavik we stop at a famous crater whose name I promptly forgot. The weather has turned fierce again, low clouds crept in after leaving Geysir. The wind has picked up and we're back to normal. The crater is deep and forbidding. A troll would be happy living in it no doubt.

The six days of hard travel across Iceland's interior during one of the season's worst storms has been challenging but I'm glad I did it, if only to boast later that I survived the ordeal. Travel makes us all stronger doesn't it?

I've come to understand a bit about the national character. To live, indeed prosper in this awful climate takes a special fortitude. No wonder Icelanders are known for being tough, stubborn and resourceful.

It's certainly one of the world's most curious countries.

I must mention that Icelanders are all related to one another, that they are either completely humourless or have bizarre senses of humour, that the country is flat broke with nary a Kroner to its name, that the value of its currency has fallen by 50% in two years and that its PM is a lesbian who is trying to put the house of Iceland back in working order while the men focus on drinking more beer and eating rotten shark bits.

I do like Iceland despite its off-putting wintry climate.

In many respects it's my kind of country as it's packed with eccentrics who are relatively harmless. There are hydrogen re-fill stations around Reykjavik for hydrogen fuelled vehicles. Wind and solar (solar would have to be very efficient technology, during my time in Iceland I saw the sun for all of five minutes) energy plants are being initiated as the usual geo-thermal plants are considered exhaustible; a curious notion on an island famously called the 'Land of Fire and Ice'. You'd think there would be enough steam power in Iceland to keep the turbines turning for eons but the geologists beg to differ.

Finally, in case you're wondering, it's pronounced: Eh-ya-fee-yalla-th-yoa-kool and it's not expected to blow again for another two hundred years. The ones to watch out for are Katla and Grimsvotn. When they blow up, flights may be disrupted for more than a year or two.

Tom Neal Tacker travelled courtesy of Thai Airways, SAS Airways and Mountain Guides Iceland.

Naked Facts:

See www.moutainguides.is for information about treks around Iceland. A very reputable company in business since 1996 with well trained guides and expert local knowledge.

Iceland’s airline operates from most European and many North American cities to Reykjavik’s Keflavik international airport. See www.icelandair.com for more information.

Naked Sleeps:

Reykjavik’s Radisson Blu 1919 hotel is highly recommended with far better than average hotel food and great service in an excellent location. See www.radissonblu.com/1919hotel-reykjavik for deals and bookings.

Opal Odyssey

Lightning Ridge, NSW

by Marian McGuinness

Some 2,300 hardy souls live on this huge archipelago, mostly in the capital town, Longyearbyen. Svalbard’s islands constitute an area roughly the size of Denmark.

At the Svalbard Museum I read two forbidding descriptions of life in this isolated frigid place, one written in 1935 by Christiane Ritter: ‘This place is abandoned by God and ought to have been abandoned a long time ago by mankind as well.’ I’m told a few dozens of fringe dwellers live further a field, isolated for months at a time, subsisting off fur trapping or fishing. The second description is more daunting, ‘The ability to adapt, and the art of resignation, is some of what is needed most by those who shall live in Svalbard,’ wrote Liv Balstad in 1956. My ability to adapt to Svalbard’s extreme conditions will be sorely tested.

Tom Neal Tacker travelled courtesy of 50 Degrees North, Thai Airways and SAS Airways.

50 Degrees North offers dog sledging and other trips to Svalbard during the short spring season, March and April. See www.fiftydegreesnorth.com or contact 1300 422 821 for more information. Costs for a Dogsled Expedition to the Ship in the Ice are approximately $AUD3,510 per person including most meals, safety equipment, polar suits and boots, accommodation for three nights onboard the ‘Noorderlicht’ and two nights at Basecamp Trapper’s Lodge in central Longyearbyen. Extra nights at Trapper’s Lodge are from 1450 Norwegian Kroner (AUD$250) a night. The meals cooked on board the 'Nooderlicht's' tiny galley are surprisingly tasty and nutritious. Full credit to the crew (two very resourceful Dutch women) for their ingenuity, resourcefulness and warm hospitality.

SAS has a return fare from Oslo to Longyearbyen via Tromso from approximately $AUD500 depending on the season. See www.flysas.com

Naked Eats:

The Huset restaurant, café and nightclub two kilometres from Trapper’s Lodge, offers superb dining. Local delicacies such as Arctic char, reindeer and cloudberries accompany a surprisingly extensive wine list. See www.huset.com and be sure to reserve first, Tel: +79 02 25 00. Open Monday to Sunday from 19:00 until 22:00 for dinner.

The Kroa restaurant and bar behind Trapper’s Lodge in Longyearbyen’s Sentrum district is funky and fun serving well prepared food. Try their specially imported Jenssen XO Cognac ‘on tap’. The seafood soup or one of the smoked fish pizzas is recommended. Reserve a table first. Tel: +79 02 13 00. Open 7 days and nights.

Naked Tips:

Near the airport on the north facing side of a mountain juts a glassy glittering gateway to a secret world, a single lane road running off the main drag between town and the airport winds up to what appears to be a rather expensively kitted out mine shaft. Here lies the Global Seed Vault, established early this century by an international consortium of science organisations. The striking entry was designed by a local architectural firm, the tunnels cleverly drilled into rocky permafrost by a local engineering company, Leonhard Nilsen & Sonner. Something of an engineering marvel, the tunnels require constant maintenance as the permafrost continually buckles walls, floors and door frames.

Sadly, the Global Seed Vault is off limits to casual visitors. Luckily I was allowed inside for a couple hours to see the planet’s essential safeguard for our continuing existence if nuclear holocaust or a natural catastrophe occurs and most of the world’s population is obliterated, crops are destroyed and harvests dwindle to nothing.

If human beings are to survive, food must be found. Hopefully to ensure our future if worse comes to worst, millions of seeds collected from around the planet are stored in deep tunnels drilled into permafrost, the seeds’ vitality is more or less guaranteed for thousands of years.

The project is an ongoing one. Currently over 3 million seeds are in storage. More are being added regularly. Lined up on shelves, protected in thick plastic sealed bags then stacked in specially designed boxes, these seeds represent mankind’s best effort to face a plausible reality, frightening as it may seem. The implicit future the Global Seed Vault represents sends chilling thoughts deep into my soul as I wander through deep tunnels filled with seeds to save us from our most horrific nightmare.

See www.regjeringen.no for more information.